


You have no Control

by Iwillgladlyjointhefight



Series: My eyes on you [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, White House AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6327397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwillgladlyjointhefight/pseuds/Iwillgladlyjointhefight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to all !!  
> I am very excited about writing this. So many of you asked for a rewrite of "Relax have a Drink with Me" that would be Washette centered. So here it is !  
> If you haven't read Relax have a drink with me, that's fine. This story starts before Laf meets any of the boys; that will come later.

When he was 2, Lafayette’s father called his son “spirited”. He was too young to care. When he was 8, his grandmother called him “turbulent”. He didn’t care. When he was 17 and left to his own devices, Monsieur de Noailles, trying to get him to like his daughter and get his own hands on his inheritance before understanding that Adrienne lacked the  _ equipment _ the Lafayette boy would like, he called him a “petulant brat”. He didn’t care. When he graduated from the Ecole Nationale d’Administration, his teachers called him “a brilliant menace to our country’s foreign relationships”. He didn’t care. When Lafayette had to leave the French Embassy in Mali and be sent somewhere else, the Foreign Affairs Minister called him “our new Ambassador to the US”. And really, that was all he cared about.

 

Summer in DC was hot. Like, really hot. Lafayette didn’t like hot weather. No, wait : he  _ loved _ hot weather. By a pool. With a glass of chilled white wine - maybe some Pinot? No, he decided. Sauvignon was the way to go. With a bathing suit on. Or nothing at all. In any case, not tying a black bow around his white shirt collar. 

Today was actually his first cultural even in Washington. Some genius French kid with magical hands had discovered black and white keys on a piano could make music when she was two, and lo and behold, here she was giving a recital in the US capital at the grand old age of eight. He had organized the whole thing, a tour of the city with her parents and her, bullshitting his way through it because he’d only been there for a month, pictures, et cetera; but Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette was a charmer, and of course he pulled it off.

He looked at himself in the mirror, moving his hips slightly so his slacks felt more natural against his legs, and shot a smile at his reflection, dark chocolate eyes crinkling. He looked great. When did he not. He considered keeping his hair down, decided against it, pulling the curls up into a high ponytail. The TV was chatting in the background, a TV show or another; he didn’t really care. The flat was huge, not very personal; that was one of the downsides of being a young (the youngest ever. Not that he bragged about it. No, he  _ flaunted _ it.) ambassador and moving from place to place. First Azerbaïjan but there was that regrettable incident with the Georgian Ambassador who was, well, not as conservative as he looked but definitely authoritative enough to remind Laf that literally fucking with the Soviet Union was no laughing matter and that the closet in the French Embassy was not soundproof. Then Mali and the war and the hospital and the Legion d’Honneur. But the goal had always been the USA. The Minister had been clear though : this assignment is not as easy as the previous ones had been. He was a professional.

He popped a lollipop in his mouth as he grabbed his jacket and ran down the stairs to get in the waiting car, waving at the doorman, Andrew, as he went.

 

The black sedan stopped in front of the National Opera. Lafayette thanked the driver, not waiting for the security guard to get out of the car to escort him. At least, inside the building, security was scattered enough that - hopefully - he wouldn’t have to deal much with them. Lafayette hated feeling like he couldn’t come and go at his convenience, learning from a young age how to sneak past his grandma’s room at night, how to climb out of his boarding school’s windows when in high school to go to bars and find someone who wouldn’t mind paying a beer to a 17 year old who would talk his ear off about his ideals of freedom and rightful civil disobedience before disappearing into the night to get some sleep in time for his 8am history class.

But apparently, security was something you had to deal with when the President of the United States was attending a recital. Go figure. It was actually the first time Lafayette would meet President George Washington. He was not anxious, just a bit nervous. The man was the leader of the Free World, as they said. He also happened to be absolutely gorgeous and Lafayette had to shake those ideas from his head - it was one thing to be a pain in the ass, it was another thing to want said pain in the ass to be caused by the man he would be working with for hopefully a few years. Nevermind that the tall, dark, serious President was just the kind of man Lafayette would love to see lose control under his fingers. 

He made his way to the bar, where Ségur, his assistant, was waiting, handing him a glass of chilled Sauvignon as he arrived.

“Thank god you are there, Ségur,” thanked Lafayette as he took a sip. “Is everything ready?”

Ségur nodded. “ _ Oui _ . The family is already in the front row. The child is getting ready. I swear, she is easier to work with than freaking Marion Cotillard.”

“More talented as well, probably.” Lafayette smirked at his assistant. “Has the President arrived? And the press?”

“The President is already sitting in his box with his staff. The press are stationed by the side of the stage. You are expected to meet him after with little Charlotte and get a few pictures taken. The official statement has already been sent to the media.”

“ _ Fantastique. _ Let’s get this show on the road.” He downed his glass in one go and walked a corridor in long strides until he got backstage, where the kid was getting her hair done in cute pigtails. He sat on the dressing table, much to the protest of the hairdresser lady, who he just winked at, making her blush and shake her head with a giggle.

“So, kid, are you ready to go and make your country proud?”

Charlotte blushed. “My mom said the President would be there.”

“Well, yeah. It is not too much of a big deal though. Are you nervous?”

“A bit.” She fiddled with the hem of her cute dress. “What if I make a mess and mom and dad are disappointed?”

Lafayette felt his chest tighten. “Do you like Disneyland?” The little girl nodded eagerly. “Well, I want you to breathe with me, Charlotte, okay? Count to three in your head, then, count to three when you let it out, okay?” She did as she was told. “Your mom and dad are very proud of you. You have done this a lot of times before, right? This is no different. You know what? If you smile and play to the end, I will get the three of you tickets to Disneyland.” She shot him the largest smile he’d ever seen. She was missing her two front teeth. He chuckled. “See? You are halfway there. If you are worried, I will be up in the balcony, right in the center, okay? Maybe we can go for ice cream, after the show, too.”

An assistant came to get Charlotte to the side of the stage where the director of the Opera was introducing her already. “Go get them, Mozart,” he told her as she left.

“I am playing Schumann tonight. I thought you had read the program,” she corrected him.

“I can’t believe I just got out-sassed by an eight-year-old,” Lafayette told the hairdresser as he jumped off the table and made his way to the stairs that led to the balcony.

She grabbed his sleeve. “What are you doing after the show?”

He patted her hand before kissing her cheek. “Oh, honey. Your chromosomes are way too identical for my taste.”

 

 

Lafayette made his way in the semi-dark until he found his seat, at Ségur’s right and State Secretary Greene’s left. The kid had already started playing, so he just sat and nodded politely at Greene, who mouthed “after the recital”, as if Lafayette was stupid enough to start making small talk to the President while the artist was playing and the press was probably taking pictures of them all already anyway. He thought he saw, from the corner of his eye, Washington’s head turn slightly. He focused on the  _ Allegro _ .

 

George Washington had always loved classical music. It took his mind off the political matters he had to deal with on a daily basis. Not that he didn’t like his job : he’d  _ fought  _ for it. But being President was rightully taking all his energy, and the cultural events he could attend were a welcome moment of peace where he could sit a little less straight, be a little less controlling of everything that was happening around him. So when Greene had told him a little French prodigy was performing at the opera, a few days after he was back at the White House from his vacation at Mount Vernon, he’d just approved politely, but had fully embraced the moment of reprieve in his head. It was also the occasion of meeting the new Ambassador - the previous one, Estaing, had been great but so very uptight. The new one was, from what Greene had told him, young. Pretty young. And a bit of a wild puppy. But enthusiastic was good, Washington thought. There was not enough enthusiasm in politics anymore.

The man was late, though. The french usually were, he thought. His assistant - Ségur? - had said he’d gone to talk to the kid, which, if true, was pretty cute. George had no skills with children. Martha and him didn’t have any, unfortunately. He would have wanted to, he guessed. But now that he was alone, well. It was easier to devote his life to the nation. 

He heard shuffling on the side but kept his head straight, looking forwards, to the small blonde kid making wonders out of the piano. He liked Schumann. Martha had liked the Romantics, introduced him to Beethoven, Berlioz, and his own favorite, Tchaïkovski. He didn’t miss her. But he missed the company. Classical music was perfect for this kind of longing. 

He couldn’t help, though, turn his head just a bit as he saw in his peripheral vision Greene mouth something at the man who had just sat. He felt his heart jump, just the slightest bit, nothing he couldn’t ignore. The man was tall, relaxed, with a head full of hair he’d tried to tame in a ponytail and a winning smile like he knew the world was already his to take, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, an arm casually thrown around the back of Ségur’s chair. Nothing like Estaing, then. Nothing he had expected, actually.

The little girl - Charlotte if he remembered correctly - started a slower melody. It was vaguely familiar. He saw, from the corner of his eye, Lafayette sit, his elbows on his knees, attentive and illuminated by the soft light that came from the stage; Washington could see his features better, his light stubble, looking just this side of handsomely un-groomed, and the man must have felt observed because he turned his face and smiled at Washington who turned his head blushing as if caught with his hand in the candy jar, and now he remembered that Martha used to listen to this piece, the  _ Ghost Variations, _ except that in his mind, Martha’s eyes had turned chocolate brown, and not their original blue.

 

The lights came back on, Charlotte took a bow, gracefully accepted the flowers she was handed, and trotted to the side of the stage where her mom and dad were waiting to hug her. There had not been a single false note. They were not disappointed, although her mother did correct her on her posture. Lafayette rolled his eyes as he approached them; he had sneaked away from the presidential box a few minutes before the end of the recital and boy was he glad because seeing the president up close, in relative intimity, had been both a blessing and a curse and he’d had to curl in on himself by the middle of the show, making it look like he was incredibly invested in the show (which he was, but not over the moon either), to hide a very inappropriate semi boner. 

“Congratulations, Charlotte,” he said, kissing both her cheeks and accepting the hand she was holding to him, keeping it in his. “Monsieur Mussot, Madame, your daughter is a gift to the musical world. I have no doubt the President would like to congratulate her as well, if you’ll follow me?”

He led them to the reception hall, Charlotte’s hand still in his, where various politicians, artists, and upperclass people were honoring the timeless tradition of pretending to appear cultured while drinking heavily at the expense of the Embassy. They went to the bar and damn if the kid hadn’t deserved her apple juice. She asked why it didn’t come in a box. This was a diva in the making. Lafayette already liked her. He spotted Greene talking to Washington and made his way there, the family in tow.

“Ah ! Monsieur de Lafayette !” called Greene as he saw them approach. “And little Mademoiselle Mussot ! You were great out there !” Lafayette quickly translated to the little girl. The parents spoke English, though. They all shook Greene’s hand, and Lafayette finally looked up to the President. He wish he’d done it sooner.

The President was looking down - holy crap the man was tall - at him and Lafayette was not sure he could find his way out of his eyes if he wanted to. But, more importantly, Washington was swallowing slowly like he was nervous, and Lafayette saw his Adam’s apple bob, and he knew. He knew. He was in trouble. And that trouble was extending his hand to him, and, God, the hand was large, and Lafayette - okay, it’d been a dry spell lately and he had a things for hands, okay? - took the only way out his brain supplied : he got slightly up on his tiptoes and kissed the man on both cheeks,  _ à la française _ , like they were long-time friends meeting for drinks, and Greene stared at them, coughing, “This… This is the Marquis de Lafayette, our new French ambassador.”

“Please call me Gilbert,” said Lafayette with the brightest smile he could manage, turning on the charm. He’d never told anyone to call him Gilbert before. “I am deeply honored to meet you, mister President, sir.”

“Likewise, son,” garbled Washington, taken aback. He was happy he was a public man and knew how to keep his composure. “Miss Charlotte, your recital was a delight. I feel very privileged to have been able to witness it.” He shook the little hand, to the kid’s confusion. “Monsieur de Lafayette, Gilbert, I am looking forward to working with you. Welcome to the United States.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s a dream come true. I already feel at home.”

Charlotte tugged on Lafayette’s hand. “Can we go get ice cream, now?” He nodded. “If you’ll excuse me. Mr President, Mr Greene. There is a chocolate cone with my name on it begging to get licked. Monsieur Mussot, Madame Mussot. Please tell my assistant when you go back to the hotel so I can bring Charlotte back here or there. Good evening.”

He made his way out, holding the child by the hand, and Washington could hear him say “See, kid, that was not scary. He is tall, but he needs a hug like we all do.”

“What was that?” he asked Greene, a bit stunned.

“That was the new Ambassador. I am sorry for his familiarity, sir.” said Greene, shaking his head.

George Washington was not sorry, actually. But it was not something he had expected, which, in his life, was a huge change. He shouldn’t even have asked the Secretary what that was, because he knew. That was trouble for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all !  
> Thank you for your comments/kudos/messages on Tumblr ! 
> 
> This chapter, we meet the asshole we all love to hate. However briefly.

Considering his job was a diplomatic one and that he was in contact with the State Office everyday, Lafayette had done a tremendous effort not to meet the President again. HE probably could, if he wanted too. There was always a diplomatic issue or another - the talks of the franco-american airstrikes in Syria, for one, his stance on the broken ceasefire in Donbass, Ukraine, as a member of the OSCE - but really, what couldn’t he talk about with the President that he couldn’t talk about with Greene? At least he wasn’t possessed to kiss the man on the cheek like he had the impulse to do every time he saw Washington on TV. He was still stunned at how much the man was on TV here in the US - back in France, you’d only ever see the President for important speeches when something absolutely terrible happened, or the New Year’s address, or every year for the Agricultural Show where everyone just waited to see him get gradually sloshed as he had to drink wine with every damn wine-grower with a booth. But on American TV? There was no way he could escape the broad shoulders and deep eyes. God, that was unconvenient.

Late at night, in this huge appartment he didn’t feel at home in, he couldn’t help but replay the cheek kisses in his mind - this had been a spur of the moment thing, something he would have done back in France, at a party where he would have known his bed would not be only his for the night, but a dumbass move anyway. He didn’t regret it anyway. He’d erased the concept of regret or remorse from his mind ages ago and found it made life easier. 

He’d talked about it to little Charlotte as he had licked at his melting two scoops of chocolate ice cream. Had he been too forward? Was this a serious breach of protocol? Did she think because he had had a wife meant Lafayette couldn’t work his magic? Maybe the kid didn’t know what the B in LGBT stood for or about the fluidity of sexuality, but she had advised him that if the President ever pulled his hair and ran away to his friends laughing, it meant that he liked him. He’d frowned and told her that if a boy ever did that he gave her diplomatic immunity to kick him in the balls. But if the President ever tugged at his hair, he wouldn’t even complain. 

 

George Washington was a rational man. When he’d gotten back to the White House and his private rooms, he’d started looking up French customs - something he’d never really given much thought to. He’d debated sending Vice President Von Steuben a text, the man had spent years in France as a younger man, he’d have known all about that, but really,  _ Von Steuben _ ? He’d never hear the end of it. “Stranger things have happened”, the man would probably say before telling a tale of those high-end night-clubs he’d been to and oh God, Washington was not ready for that.

And actually, why did he care? He knew, Greene had told him, Lafayette was young and exalted and probably maybe a bit intimidated - he hadn’t looked intimidated at all, who was George kidding, he’d looked him in the eye talking about licking ice cream - in any case, he was certainly a tornado in Apollo’s body. Not that he’d remarked. Washington’s eye was simply that of a military man : he saw things and catalogued them neatly in his mind. But when it came to that particular Lafayette subject, he felt reluctant to file him under the diplomatic folder where he belonged.

This was stupid. Washington had always loved women. Not that he couldn’t appreciate that a man was beautiful, he was way past that. But he felt a bit... old? to realize that maybe, just maybe, hypothetically, he could see himself hold a man’s hand, kiss it, lead him to his bed - woah, stop there, he was definitely not ready to even go there. So he did what any logical man would do. He looked up Lafayette on Google (he hoped the NSA was nice enough to not mention it. Nosy fuckers). Quite a lot of entries came up. Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier - that was a mouthful, what had his parents thought? - ambassador in Azerbaïjan. Pulled away from there because of a conflict with the Georgian Ambassador. The man did seem candid, but not particularly vindictive. His smile on the pictures was one of a man who could win anyone over. Washington shrugged it off. Sent to Mali a little before the war started. Housed a handful of French expats when the conflict broke out. Took a bullet in the calf for his trouble. The French Government had offered him the Legion d’Honneur, which he had refused, making quite a scandal when he’d said that he didn’t feel worthy of the same honors that had been bestowed upon Barbra Streisand. Washington snorted in a most undignified manner. It was always good to see someone refuse a symbolic piece of scrap metal.

He tried not to look at the pictures of a smiling Lafayette shaking the French President’s hand or his own hand casually grabbing a friend’s arm to point a creperie to her in what had probably been a picture found from a not-so-private Facebook profile, Lafayette’s jeans just too tight for a professional picture and his demeanor way too expansive. Was the girl his girlfriend? What did he care, anyway? He didn’t. 

But as he went to bed, late, Schumann’s piano still in his mind and on the drumming of his restless fingertips, his empty bed, he couldn’t help but see a broad smile mouth the words “he needs a hug like we all do”. And he felt just like he had in that dark balcony : that moment where you know you aren’t falling anymore but you just hit the ground, knocking the breath out of your lungs, again, and again, and again, the elating feeling of the fall mixed with the surprised panic of the impact, a thousand times over.

  
  


Lafayette shook off his suit in record time and got uner the spray of his italian shower. Even for his taste, the appartment was fancy, all white granite countertops and designer lines overlooking Foundry Branch Valley Park; he could see the Potomac from there and was only a short walk away from the Embassy. He sighed as the water hit his shoulders. Tomorrow was going to be a big day. He’d been there for a bit more than a month, replacing d’Estaing at short notice after the man’s stroke; the Embassy and the White House had finally found a date where he would give Washington his Letter of credence, a stupid but necessary formal ceremony where the President could give him the boot but wouldn’t because they never did, and Lafayette hated protocol and even more so if it meant  _ handing _ Washington something and having to hold his damn tongue. So, to celebrate, well, Lafayette was having a little fun tonight. Arriving during summer in the city meant that few knew his name, even less his face, and he could probably go to a bar peacefully, Ségur had told them they were all filled with politicians anyway. 

He had a blind date. Well. Ségur had arranged him a date, in any way. He had invited his girlfriend Sarah for a drink, and there was this guy who often came by the Embassy because he was interning at Cabinet Affairs or something, and he spoke French so Greene liked to send him there when mails and phone calls felt too convoluted. Ségur had told him the guy had a boner for France and had almost peed his pants when asked if he would like to go on a date with the French Ambassador. Lafayette didn’t care. He just needed a quickie before he had to face Washington.

But, oh, how Lafayette would be disappointed.

 

“You simply must meet Thomas,” said Ségur as he took Lafayette’s arm and led him to the table. Lafayette stopped a second by the bar to order a pint and followed.

He kissed sweet Sarah on the cheek and eyed the much talked-about Thomas Jefferson. The man seemed tall, maybe as tall as Washington, don’t think about Washington, with a mane of wild curls he could imagine gripping on, calculating eyes where he could the thoughts swirl a million a minute; the man extended a confident hand for him to shake with a flirty smirk and there was only room for one charmer in this relationship, my friend.

He sat down opposite Thomas, putting on his most winning smile.

“So. Thomas. I’ve heard you are quite the French enthusiast?” Lafayette’s beer arrived and he sipped on it. 

“Yes. I’ve been there every summer for the past ten years, my family owns a flat in Paris.” Jefferson stretched out his legs; Lafayette could feel his foot just inches away from his ankle.

“A flat in Paris? That’s pretty fancy.”

“It overlooks the Jardin des Tuileries, if you can place it,” added Jefferson.

Ségur scoffed in his drink. “Laf is the French Ambassador. I am pretty sure he knows where the Tuileries are.”

Lafayette studied Jefferson’s face with great interest. “Yeah, I drove past there on my way to the Presidential Palais de l’Elysée. Great place for tourists and hawkers. Which one are you, Thomas?” He deeply enjoyed the way Jefferson’s satisfied smile turned upside down.

Needless to say Lafayette didn’t come home with Jefferson. He accepted his number, though. He would never touch the guy with a ten-feet pole, but he knew an intelligent man when he saw one. Thomas Jefferson was a pedantic asshole, but he was brilliant, and Lafayette was maybe acerbic and frustrated, but he was polite and knew how to network. Politics 101 : learn to say fuck you and still have them coming back running for a crumb of power.

He could have gone to a club and get fucked quickly in a bathroom stall. He could have called an escort. But by far, he prefered getting back home and thrusting into his tight fist until he came to the pathetic memory of warm blushing dark skin under his lips.

  
  


Lafayette woke up with a vague sense of guilt and nervous energy buzzing under his skin. He made a disgusted face at himself as he put his ruined sheets in the washing machine and hopped into the shower to wash the dried come and the sweat away before wrapping his hips in a towel and smiling at the croissant the caretaker never failed to get delivered to his door every morning in a desperate attempt to get him to take her out on a date - he would have to tell her, eventually, that he was so gay he sneezed glitter.

The ceremony was at 10am. It was 8. He had time for coffee, and maybe one or two songs to loudly sing along to before getting a pep talk by Greene. 

 

Washington wiped his hands inconspicuously on his suit pants under the desk of the Oval Office. He’d carefully avoided thinking about the line on his planning that said “10 am - French Ambassador credentials ceremony”. But it was 9.45, and Greene had left to talk to Lafayette, and he was at his 3rd bottle of water already and needed to pee and had absolutely  _ not _ spent the night convincing himself that his fascination with the Ambassador was nothing else than his loneliness expressing itself at the most unconvenient of times, and that every report and article he had read about Lafayette’s character didn’t make him crave the exuberance the man seemed to radiate. 

His door opened. Angelica Schuyler came in. “The press is here for the Credentials, Mr President.” She was a very capable woman. He felt glad to have her on his side. He couldn’t even imagine one day being on the other side of the glare the Head of Communications would give any disobedient staff member.

“Thank you, Miss Schuyler. I’ll be in the Diplomatic Room in a minute.” He had to cross the West Wing for that. Each step felt a second and an hour long simultaneously. Tallmadge, his security guard, was walking silently behind him. He finally saw Greene, and the source of his insomnia, Lafayette, Gilbert, turning his head to him as he heard his steps and smiling like he had swallowed the goddamn sun.

“Mister President !” he made a movement as if to kiss his cheek again, but Washington had thrust his hand between them, which he shook without missing a beat. George’s heart did miss one as Lafayette let his fingers trail on Washington’s just this side of too long. “Shall we, then?” and stepped aside as he let the President open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it.  
> Please leave me kudos, comments, come talk on tumblr @iwillgladlyjointhefight. It keeps me going. Literally. In more ways than one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all ! I hope you had/have a great day !  
> Thank you for reading, commenting, sending me death threats on tumblr for making you ship washette, etc. It is my litteral pleasure.  
> I'll leave you with those idiots falling fast.

Lafayette just let Washington be the first to enter the room, as Greene had advised. He cared very little for protocol, but apparently things had to be done a certain way. Anyway, he was too busy having his mind reeling from the way Washington had dodged his kiss. Maybe he’d shaken his hand just this side of too long, trying to make his skin memorize the other’s, but frankly, could he be blamed? Was it too obvious? But then again, he’d never hidden his flirtatious nature. Lafayette knew exactly what he could get away with or not, how to test the audience and make a graceful exit stage right if needed or jump into the pit if allowed. And oh, this was different. This one stung. Now he was all for a bit of a chase and teasing, but that was not what he wanted this time. Not when he thought of Washington. This felt like the stupid romantic movies Adrienne would make him watch. This felt like summers in the rain and cold winter sun. This smelt like orange leaves in the Cévennes forest and cracking old dark wooden beams in his old Parisian flat. As Washington walked past him, he realized it actually smelt of Bleu, by Chanel. And suddenly, he felt very young and very small in his thousand-dollar suit.

 

Washington made his way to the Diplomatic Room, a polite smile on his lips as he waved to the photographers and journalists in attendance. It was mainly a decorum ceremony, not warranting that much media coverage. Just smiles, a handshake, a few words, and everybody would be on their way for lunch. His mind was somewhere else as he exchanged a few platitudes with a journalist from MSNBC he vaguely knew from his electoral campaign. He thought he’d seen a flicker of something in the Ambassador’s eyes, like he had been suddenly kicked in the gut or slapped across the face when he had walked by. How could he not notice? Of course he had. He had made a carrier out of noticing things. Maybe he’d offended him when refusing the French  _ bise _ . They were a proud folk, the French. Estaing had never kissed him. He wasn’t sure he had ever wanted him to, though. 

 

Washington stood in front of the desk as Greene took his place next to him. The Secretary of State didn’t have to be there but he was happy to have him. Maybe he should have moved the ceremony to the Situation Room. Was that what it was now? A  _ situation _ ? He had difficulties holding back a groan. When had he turned into Jane Bennett?

Lafayette approached with a bright smile and a few cameras started to flash as their clicketing sounds invaded the room. He handed Washington a thin and neat folder, stamped with the French national emblem in gold ink. “Mr President, sir”, he said with a chipper voice and a French accent thicker than Washington remembered, “please accept these letters of credence, sign of the friendly centuries-old relationship between our countries, and France’s wish to see myself embody this friendship by the United States’ side at the best of my skills and abilities”, and these were empty words but he had seemed to coat them with meaning and Washington was afraid he was reading too much into twinkling eyes and sweet smiles and soft hands, but he smiled back all the same as he accepted the letters.

“Monsieur de Lafayette, the Cabinet and myself are honored to have you in our midst. I have no doubt the cooperation between our countries will be beneficial to both parties. We all look forward to working with you. It will be my greatest pleasure.” He was glad his dark skin hid much of his blush. They shook hands. The journalists wanted pictures of the handshake, so it went on for longer than Washington would have liked. 

 

Lafayette was in Heaven. Heaven was this cramped room and Washington tall next to him, his hand in his, and the darkening of his cheeks that he probably thought was inconspicuous but really was not, the way his pupils had just dilated the slightest bit when Lafayette had forced his French accent. The man hadn’t probably even noticed. He did look pretty lost about it all, which could be understood if what they said was true and he’d only ever known women and power. Lafayette knew Heaven was a few inches away. He’d tried to make his speech as clear as he dared - he was on record, after all. Now the decision was Washington’s, and the other man didn’t even know it yet, probably.

 

Washington bit into the BLT sandwich one of the thoughtful interns had brought him as his eyes skimmed over the Student Loans Adjustment Act the Treasury had sent his way, trying not to have tomato spill onto his white shirt; he was supposed to meet with the Secretary of Health in an hour.  His eyes fell on the folder Lafayette had handed him just two hours prior; he would have someone send it to Greene as soon as possible. After the Frenchman had handed it to him and they had answered the press’ few questions, he had kind of forgotten he had it in his hand. He mechanically let his finger run over the embossed golden letters that read “Republic of France”. His skin caught on a small point and he frowned, remarking the stapler hidden in the emblem for the firt time. A staple. He opened the folder and detached the small card. A phone number, and, in beautiful cursive, “if needed or wanted. G.” A piece of tomato fell on his pants. He sighed.

  
  


It was 9pm and Lafayette had finally been able to slip into sweatpants, a pair of fuzzy socks, and an old shirt Adrienne had offered him featuring a heavily mustachio-ed frog. He wished she was there so she could slap the glass of wine out of his hand, down it herself, and tell him alcohol didn’t solve anything. But she wasn’t there and her newborn daughter would not like to be awoken by her mother’s typing at 4am. 

Had Washington got his card? He supposed that Greene was supposed to keep the letters in the State Department - for what they were worth. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision before leaving home and he’d carefully chosen the words so that they weren’t too forthcoming. Stapling it to the folder, though - it felt like he had had to hide his intentions, which was a hard thing for Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, who had been extravagant since he had learnt what the word meant. 

Was George thinking of him right now? When had he started to call him George? Would they get married in the White House one day? He didn’t know where he was going with this, but he was going with a hopeful dreamy smile.

 

Washington was lying on his bed, laptop on his knee. Von Steuben had sent him a link to a blog he’d heard about - a young man who was about to graduate from Columbia and had interned at the Post before, a wordsmith who used his pen as a weapon and that he’d been told to keep an eye on and he’d been lying if he said the guy’s open letter to Senator Adams hadn’t made him choke with laughter on his nightly indulgence of triple-chocolate cookies - and he was fiddling with the damn card, scraping it against the keyboard, against his palm, against the 5 o’clock shadow on his jaw, itchy with nervous energy - if he’d been the kind of man to do coke, he would have used the card, but he wasn’t, so he was just using it to bring himself to what seemed more and more like a realization he was not as straight as he’d thought. Who could he ask? Von Steuben would have a field day. You don’t text your ex-wife out of the blue to ask if she thinks you should make out with a guy you’ve just met. He wasn’t close enough to anyone in the Cabinet to ask for their advice. Maybe the Chief of Staff, Knox? They’d been together since the start of his political campaign, met in the military. It did seem like his best  choice. But it was 11pm, and he didn’t want to text him about something that made feel so out of his depth. Texts were far too casual. Wasn’t that right? Texts were  _ casual _ . There was nothing suspicious about a text.

* * *

 

To : G

Texts are innocent

* * *

 

Lafayette’s eyebrow shot nearly to his hairline he was so surprised. What the fuck was that. Was it code? He didn’t even have an idea if it  _ was _ Washington or a wrong number. Maybe it was a damn serial killer and he would never know, oh god, he’d been in the US for three months, not even three, and he was already going to get killed. But what did he expect George to text him? “ _ this is potus hmu _ ”? What was he going to answer? He’d not thought this plan through. He couldn’t send “ _ who dis _ ” if it was indeed the President. So he took the safest route. Which was the one he was the most comfortable with. Which was flirting with either a serial killer or the President.

 

* * *

From : G

They can not be if you want

* * *

 

Washington dropped his phone like it’d burnt him. This was all a stupid idea, unbecoming of the President of the United States, and there was probably a night-shift NSA employee laughing their ass off in his office, screenshotting so he could tell his coworkers the story. He was never texting again.

 

* * *

From : Zodiac Killer ?

Please forget that interaction. This is a terrible idea. I am sorry and mortified.

 

To : Zodiac Killer ? 

Sir is that you ?  Because I was the one to initiate it

 

From : Zodiac Killer ?

It is I

 

From : Zodiac Killer ?

I mean I am the President of the United States 

 

_ Contact modified to George !!! _

 

From : George !!!

Oh God

 

To : George !!!

That’s what they all say

 

To : George !!!

Oh God 

 

To : George !!!

How do I take back a text 

 

From : George !!!

This is overall a rather horrible conversation

 

To : George !!!

I am sorry Sir I am usually better

 

From : George !!!

Is that what you usually say as well

 

From : George !!!

I didn’t mean to

 

From : George !!!

I think we need practice

 

From : George !!!

Good night, Gilbert.

 

To : George !!!

_ Bonne nuit, Monsieur.  _ I will be happy to practice with you again.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god. I blame my wife for the texts, although I didn't go full-on sexting.  
> As always, I love, love, love, hearing about you on Tumblr or here in the comments. It means a lot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, good afternoon, good evening ! Thank you for sticking with me.  
> Your comments and kudos are my life force. I kid you not.

When Lafayette woke up the following morning, he wasn’t really sure the awful texts were not a wine-induced figment of his imagination. A quick scroll through his messages confirmed that, indeed, he had been suggesting to the President of the United States that he was open to sexting. He let his phone fall by his pillow and buried his head in the soft cotton. He didn’t really know how to feel about all this. He hadn’t  _ thought _ and for once his lack of a filter may be more of a problem than expected if he wanted to actually woo the man. He sighed, hard. Considered dealing with his morning wood. Decided against it, for the sake of his sanity. Slid on a pair of running shorts, a shirt, and went for a long run in Dumbarton Oaks Park. 

 

George Washington woke up and checked his personal phone instead of his work one, which was probably a first since the beginning of his term. He had no new messages. Not that he expected one. He certainly didn’t. He had a quick look at his recent messages, trying not to look at the preview “ _ Bonne nuit. _ I will be happy to practice with you again” under the brief “G”. Was he supposed to text him back first?  What was the etiquette in such cases? Everything he’d ever heard about was not to give it up before the third date. But how was there supposed to be a first date if he didn’t text Lafayette ? Would he even give it up ? What was “it”, anyway? Maybe “it” was the tent his sheets were forming below his waist. He cursed, pretty uncharacteristically, and went to take a shower. Not that cold. And pretty long.

* * *

From : G

_ Attached picture _

Look at that !! Crocuses so late in the fall !!

* * *

 

Washington was getting into his suit when he saw his phone light up with a text message. He tried to muster all the dignity he could as he all but ran to grab the device and looked at the picture. A field of purple and yellow flowers, just a slight peek of a grey sneaker. The sky, blue. He hasn’t had time to look through the window yet, it was a nice way of getting into the day. 

* * *

 

From : G

Crocus mean cheerfulness ! It should be my symbol ! 

 

From : G

Purple is wisdom and power so that’s u

 

From : G

Yellow is enthusiasm and impulsiveness so that’s me

 

From : G 

But see they look great together !

 

To : G

Do you know the meanings of all flowers?

From : G

Google is a click away,  _ mon général _

* * *

 

That shouldn’t have been making Washington’s head as light as it did. He put his phone away in his suit jacket and went to the kitchen, grabbing a cup of coffee and a breakfast burrito the kitchen staff had left for him on the table. He walked down the stairs to the Oval Office for the daily briefing. As usual, he was the first one there. He looked out of the window to the crysanthemums on the South Lawn. Maybe crocuses would look good with them.

 

* * *

From : George !!!

_ Attached picture _

 

To : George !!!

Is that VP Von Steuben drooling in his sleep

 

From : George

I found it humourous, maybe you don’t, this is not very professional

 

To : George !!!

Are you kidding me I love it

 

To : George !!!

POKE HIM WITH A STICK

 

From : George !!!

We are on Air Force 1

 

To : George !!!

UNBUCKLE HIS SEAT BELT AND ASK THE PILOT TO DO A BARREL ROLL

 

From : George !!!

I wish not to kill my VP

 

To : George !!!

He might not die what is the point of being President if you can’t do that

 

To : George !!!

Where are you going

 

To : George !!!

I mean 

 

To : George !!!

I don’t care this is for diplomatic reasons

 

From : George !!!

Chicago, conference at CCX

 

From : George !!!

My agenda is online, Mr Ambassador.

 

To : George !!!

I don’t stalk your every move, Mr President.

 

From : George !!!

You asked me yesterday how my lunch with Senator Clinton went and I had never told you about it

 

To : George !!!

I will only speak in the presence of my lawyer.

 

From : George !!!

You are the worst, Gilbert.

* * *

 

Lafayette clutched his phone to his chest. They had been texting for almost a month and it was the first time the President called him Gilbert (not that he counted or anything). He smiled as he scrolled through his list of contacts and put the phone to his ear. If Washington thought he was the worst, boy was he in for a surprise.

* * *

From : George !!!

_ Attached picture _

 

To : George !!!

This is very pretty

 

From : George !!!

Care to explain where the lavender roses come from ?

 

To : George !!!

Probably someone with great taste. Incredible hair. Humor and humongous charisma.

 

From : George !!!

I should have known the G on the card stood for Greene

 

To : George !!!

WRONG ! Hint, that G person puts the Ass in Ambassador

 

From : George !!!

Gilbert I literally cannot walk to the bathroom the door is crowded with flowers

 

From : George !!!

Are you free for dinner on Friday night

 

To: George !!!

Do we have a gala scheduled???

 

From : George !!!

No I meant you and I

 

From : George !!!

If you don’t mind

 

To : George !!!

I don’t mind, Friday is my new favorite day

* * *

 

Lafayette grinned into his hands covering his face. He had a date. “Ségur,” he called, “I am taking Friday off. Don’t even try to call me unless France is beheading Président Bourbon.”

  
  


When Friday came, Lafayette was nothing short of maniac. He chugged three cups of latte before 10am, even though he new the date to be in the evening. A text the day before had told him to be at the White House at 7pm. He knew that Washington was staying there this weekend; the Chinese President was visiting on Saturday morning. He probably wasn’t comfortable taking him out to dinner. That was okay. Lafayette was happy to take this one day at a time, and leave Washington in control.

 

Washington had no idea what he was doing. It had seemed like a great idea, surrounded by soft roses and fresh linen, to ask Gilbert out to dinner. What the fuck had that been about? Did that look desperate? What did dinner entail? God he was out of his dating game. No longer the young General girls would giggle at when he walked past. He did what he should have done long ago. He got Knox sent to him.

“You asked to see me, George?” said Knox as he closed the door to the Oval Office.

“Henry,” sighed Washington. “Please sit with me.” He took a seat in one of the couchs. Knox took his place, facing him. “Henry,” repeated Washington. “This is not State matter. Strictly confidence from a friend to a friend.”

“My lips are sealed, George,” promised Knox, relaxing marginally. He was pleased to be called a friend by Washington. Of course, he knew they were. But the President was not particularly gushy. “You can tell me anything. We’ve been through a lot.”

“That we have,” groaned Washington good-naturedly. “But, ah, this is a different matter altogether. For once I have lost all insight or strategy.”

“George,” asked Knox carefully, “did you kill a man?”

“Good grief, man, you and I both know the answer to that. No,” he shrugged. “Henry. You know I haven’t...met...anyone since Martha and I divorced. There was no time, and frankly, I cared little for it.”

“Have you met someone?” Knox had trouble hiding his giddiness. It was all he wanted, to see Washington happy.

Washington sighed. “Yes ? I don’t know. This is all a bit out of my...area of expertise.”

“Is she married? We can’t handle that kind of scandal”, warned Knox.

Washington grimaced. “ _ He _ … is not married.”

There was a silence. Then Knox let out a small “Oh”. Another silence. “Is this...new to you? You know I wouldn’t have judged.”

“This is all quite new,” said Washington, rubbing his face with his palm. “I didn’t think… It was sudden. It’s just… him, you see? I have always been comfortable with approving of other men’s charms or looks. With him, it feels like I am less restrained, you know? He is spontaneous and wild and everything I am not. We’re having dinner tonight. I am just new to all this. I can’t see how to have the nation approve of a presidential bisexual coming out.”

Knox smiled. “Moving fast, aren’t you? See how dinner goes, plan accordingly. You’ve always had a good tactical eye. I have no doubt you’ll unravel this tangle of feelings quite enough. Will you tell me who is it?”

“I’m afraid not,” smirked Washington, and it was good not to feel any tension. “I would have to kill you.”

“I doubt the Secret Service would get to me in time.”

“I never said I’d call the Secret Service.”

 

 

Lafayette made his way up the Grand Stair, accompanied by a House staff member. Apparently George had not heard his text saying he was almost there. The woman led him to the last floor. He felt a bit intimidated to intrude on the presidential floor then quickly forgot the feeling as she told him to wait in the Yellow Oval Room. He chose not to seat, instead making his way to one of the Cassat paintings. He’d never been one for impressionism himself, far more enjoying the surrealists. Give me Magritte over Monet anytime, he thought with a smile. He heard footsteps behind him and turned around, taking in the sight of George Washington, crisp white shirt, loosened tie, walking to greet him. Before the opportunity could vanish, he stood on his toes and kissed both the man’s cheeks.

“ _ Bonsoir _ , George,” he said, handing him a bottle of wine. “I had no idea what we were having. I took the most versatile wine I could. If anything, we can drink it on its own. It should set the mood. I am not taking the car. I can stay over.”

“Calm down, Gilbert. Cabs exist.” Washington nodded for him to follow him with a smile. “Let’s go to the West Room, okay? It’s cozier.”

He led Lafayette to a smaller, homier room, in warmer tones of red. “It used to be a bedroom,” explained Washington. “Caroline’s bedroom under the Kennedys, I think. But, ah. I don’t have a family.” He walked to a liquor cabinet and pulled out two wine glasses, stopping in his tracks. “Maybe you don’t want wine yet? I have anything you want. I didn’t ask. I am sorry, it was rude.”

“Sir,” laughed Lafayette, “please relax. This is not a diplomatic meeting. I am not going to declare war, unless you want me to.”

He loved to see Washington turn darker with blushing. Until the President said “Maybe under the circumstances you could call me George,” and then it was his turn to hide his deep flush into his wine glass.

 

The dinner was perfect. They talked a lot, skimming over each other’s lives while nibbling on salmon, neither of them very hungry as they were feeding off each other’s words. Lafayette’s army dad, dead for his country; Washington’s mother, cold and analytical; Lafayette’s mother, prefering Parisian nightclubs to Auvergne where her son was growing up; Washington’s half-brother who had been what his dad hadn’t, although he was quick to drop the subject. Lafayette laughed at how Washington explained he pretended to speak French but could barely get by, promising to teach him; Washington smiled fondly at Lafayette’s retelling of how he had stepped on the French First Lady’s toes while at a gala. “I am an okay dancer,” he’d said, “someday I might even show you.”

Dessert was served and Lafayette was delighted to find it was tiramisu. Maybe he made a show of closing his eyes as he wrapped his lips around his spoon. Maybe he exaggerated the moan he made as he swallowed slowly. But there was no way of proving it. In any case, Washington spilling limoncello on his pants as he opened his eyes to look at him was worth it. 

They had not broached any romantic subject. He knew that it might take time. Which is why he was surprised, when he decided to let the President get his beauty sleep before meeting the Chinese President, when George was the one to lean in and kiss his cheek, squeezing his forearm gently.

* * *

To : George !!!

Thank you for a wonderful date.  _ Bonne nuit,  _ George.

 

From : George !!!

Thank you for letting me go at my own pace. Good night,  _ mon cher _ .

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE WASHETTE TEXTING  
> Thank you for reading, as always !


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello ! Thank you for reading !  
> Boy this one is a LONG chapter. But it didn't feel complete until the end.  
> If you've read Relax Have a Drink you know how much I love Christmas.

Lafayette was not sure what to do for Christmas. Logically, he had two choices. Go back home - to what? - to France, or stay here on his own. Christmas was a family time. He remembered his grandmother’s obsession with leaving his small child-size wellington boots at the foot of the tree, where he would wake up and find them filled with presents that he would open with his cousin - his disappointment when he was eight and he saw the empty boots and had realized that his present - a brand new bike - was outside. He’d tried to ride the bike over the ditch by the road side. He’d come home muddy, wet, and with a missing tooth. It was rainy and the ditch was full. He’d gotten an earful but his grandma had forced a few more blankets on his bed that time, along with a cup full of warm milk with honey. She always said “you’ll catch your death”. She was gone, now, though. There was only one person left there he cared about.

* * *

 

To : Adri

Adrienne. Light of my life. The only thing I think about at night. Apple of my eyes. The only person I think off under the shower

 

From : Adri

Now that is a big fat lie. What do you want? Henriette just threw up on my blouse

 

To : Adri 

Oh to be Henriette nestled against your body

 

From : Adri 

Aren’t you courting G ? What would he say?

 

To : Adri

Nobody needs to know

 

To : Adri

No but really what are you doing for Christmas

 

From : Adri

Family time in Paris at Maman’s. Papa will be there. François is working late but will join. He would be delighted to see you

 

To : Adri

Not happening. Not risking getting stabbed by your dad AGAIN. Give my best to your mom. Tell her I keep her portrait in my bedroom

 

Fom : Adri

Papa would send you anthrax. You are terrible.

 

To : Adri

So I’ve heard.  _ Je t’aime. Tu me manques. _

 

From : Adri

_ Je t’aime aussi.  _

* * *

 

Lafayette let his back hit the couch cushions. There went any plans to go back to  _ la belle France _ . He was not playing third wheel to a married couple with a small infant while the parents who’d tried to hook them up eyed him suspiciously. There were other ways to spend Christmas. There was probably Love Actually on one of the billion channels. He could ask Adrienne to send him some of the foie gras her own grandma made. He could decorate the appartment. There was only one string of fairy lights around his bed headboard for now. Christmas was only in a week. He’d never felt less cheerful about the whole thing.

* * *

 

From : George !!!

Are you going back to France for the holiday season? 

* * *

 

Apparently, there was one more option he hadn’t thought of.

He and George had texted a lot the past few weeks. Dated a bit more, too. Always at the White House, for privacy. Lafayette was not complaining. George had considerably relaxed in his presence compared to their first encounter, allowing himself to lean a bit more towards him on the couch, to smile at Lafayette’s flirting instead of choking on his food, even trying to reciprocate awkwardly. It was probably the most charming thing Lafayette had ever witnessed. He was actually quite enamored already, which was unusual but not unwelcome. 

 

* * *

From : G

I am, quite literally, home alone for Christmas.

 

From : G 

I wouldn’t mind company

* * *

 

Washington looked at his phone. It had seemed like a good idea, asking Gilbert what he was doing for Christmas. He himself had no plans. No family. Martha had asked if he wanted to join her and the kids in Virginia. It didn’t feel right. He’d said no. Von Steuben had asked if he wanted to join him and Pierre, his fiancé, for dinner, but it felt too intrusive and thinking of the two lovers just awakened a sad sort of longing; Knox had invited him to spend the night at his and Lucy’s house, like every Christmas since Martha and he had divorced. It all felt impersonal. And still, there was this kind of tugging feeling in his heart, drawing his thoughts to the only person he could envision spending Christmas with. So, yes, he’d texted Gilbert.

They had spent more time together. He had grown fond - at the very least - of the way Gilbert would look up when looking for the appropriate English word, the way he would bounce slightly on his seat when he’d managed to get Washington to smile, which happened more and more. He’s understood that the flirting that had first frightened him was more of a lifestyle than an attack, Gilbert always letting him initiate action and looking content with the slight touches Washington was so unused to giving. 

* * *

 

To : G

I can be company, if you wish so.

 

From : G

You are always so formal,  _ mon cher _ . It’s very endearing.

 

To : G

I am afraid people will talk if you ride to Mount Vernon. There are always paps around.

 

From : G

I thought so. I would say let them talk, but I value your comfort. Nobody knows where I live. Come to my place?

 

To : G

I look forward to it.

* * *

 

And he did.

  
  


Lafayette was pretty sure he couldn’t do much more. The whole flat looked like it was right out of a magazine for Pinterest moms. He could see in the place with the fairy lights alone. The tree was blocking a quarter of the view from the window, but not the part where you could see the Potomac. The gold and red ornaments were artfully arranged. The tall candles were probably a fire hazard if only by the cheer amount, and not enough different complementary scents, but considering he’d only had one week to work his magic, it would have to do. The oysters were chilling in the fridge (Adrienne had remarked they were aphrodisiac. He knew. So was ginger. He had sprinkled some of that in the chocolate of the Yule log.) He had changed the sheets, just in case. He was not expecting anything. But he liked to be prepared. Red and gold plaids, matching the tree, had been thrown on the couch. A vase of Christmas roses was on the coffee table. He was probably ready.

There was a knock on the door. He rushed to it, making sure he looked okay in the mirror by the front door, opening the door wide with a bright smile. The person facing him was not George Washington. Tallmadge was looking at him with a small smile on his lips. Washington was right behind him.

Lafayette didn’t miss a beat. “Benjamin !  _ Joyeux Noël _ ! Will you join us for dinner? I am afraid I only have food for two.”

Tallmadge shook his head. “Thank you, Monsieur de Lafayette. Merry Christmas to you. I am only here for a quick tour of your place, if you don’t mind.” 

Lafayette quickly let him through. George came in and immediately took a hold of his forearm, squeezing lightly as the door closed and Tallmadge walked to the kitchen, then leaning in to kiss Lafayette’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Gilbert. It smells amazing in here.”

“ _ Joyeux Noël,  _ George,” answered Lafayette, reveling in the way his first name, infinitely intimate-sounding, felt in his mouth. “The turkey is in the oven. We still have a bit of time before dinner.”

Tallmadge reappeared. “Thank you, Monsieur de Lafayette. The appartment is clear, although you may want to have the fire brigade on hold. Please call me when you want to go, sir. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you, Benjamin. Good night.” Washington opened and closed the door for him. Lafayette felt his heart flutter at the easy familiarity. Washington walked to the couch, taking in the tree, the decorations, the candles. He walked to the window. 

“You have a great view of the Potomac from there, Gilbert.”

Lafayette only hummed in agreement as he took out the bourbon and two glasses, setting them on the coffee table, before making his way to the kitchen to get a bottle of white wine in the fridge. He knew by now what George’s preferences were.

“I’ll take you to Mount Vernon one day, we can walk along the river. I have a bit of private land there. It looks beautiful. You’ll fit.” George added. Lafayette stopped dead in his tracks, the bottle almost escaping his hands. He looked at the tall man in the light of the candles. It was the first time he’d been the one to make a move. He quickly composed himself.

“I’ll only fit if you are with me, George,” he smiled. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Now sit with me and stop trying to get me out of my pants. Or please do.”

Washington sat next to him on the couch. “I can’t believe you know that expression but had to ask Greene how to say  _ carwash _ .”

“I can’t believe you are judging me. You can’t even ask for a cup of coffee at a  _ café _ . Please get out of my flat.” demanded the Frenchman with mock offense.

“I’ll go to Starbucks. A  _ venti  _ is a  _ venti _ .”

Lafayette shoved him playfully before pouring the bourbon and wine in their respective glasses. They clinked their glasses. It felt right.

 

Dinner was a success. Washington had been frightened that Gilbert was going to go full French on him, with snails and veal head, but no. The oysters were fresh and salty. The chestnut-stuffed turkey was perfectly roasted. The wine was sweet and rich-tasting. Lafayette had told him about the bike incident and even gone to get him a picture of his young self, all hair and smiles, trying to stand upright on a pile of chairs (“my cousin and I kept stacking them and see who could stand on the highest stack. I broke my arm after we took the picture”); George, in turn, offered a story of how his brother Lawrence would pour flour around his shoes as he walked through the living room at night so George, waking up, would think Santa had came, chimney to tree and back. Gilbert knew those glimpses of George’s childhood were sparse and he tucked it safely in his memory, eyes twinkling as he squeezed Washington’s hand, surprising the man.

They decided to have dessert on the couch. Lafayette went to cut the cake as Washington channel-surfed idly. A few familiar lines made Gilbert listen carefully.

“Is that “The Holiday”?” he asked as he handed George his plate with a spoon.

“Do you like it?” answered George. Cameron Diaz, on screen, was dancing to the Killers.

“ _ Mon chéri _ , The Holiday is a Christmas staple.” Lafayette blushed, realizing he’d just called the President of the United States “my darling”.

If Washington heard, he didn’t say anything. “I have never seen this movie.”

Lafayette frowned at him. “Now, we can’t have that, can we.” He pulled the big re plaid down from the back of the couch and draped it over both of their knees. They ate in comfortable silence while Jude Law knocked on the door and Cameron Diaz fell for him.

Soon the plates were discarded and they had grabbed their glasses of sweet white wine. Unconsciously, they had drifted a bit closer. Their shoulders were almost touching. Lafayette wasn’t aware of it until half the movie. He didn’t feel George squirm in worry before deciding to lace his fingers with Gilbert’s. He looked at Washington in careful surprise. The man didn’t look at him, engrossed in the sweet relationship between Kate Winslet and Eli Wallach.

“I remember him in “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”,” he said quietly.

“I’ll bet you do, old man,” quipped Lafayette before taking a sip of his wine, and he felt Washington squeeze his hand sweetly.

 

“That was a good movie,” noted Washington as the credits rolled.

“I still can’t believe you had never watched it. Next you’ll tell me you haven’t seen Love Actually either,” Lafayette shook his head.

“I haven’t.”

Lafayette gasped. “This is terrible. I feel personally wronged. We have to fix this immediately.”

Washington looked at his watch, his hand still in Gilbert’s. “It’s getting late, Gilbert. I can’t ask Tallmadge to wait around all night for me. I have to be considerate, if only for Christmas’ sake.”

“Then stay,” simply said Lafayette. “Text him to get you in the morning. It’s December 25th. No one is in DC anymore.”

George felt his stomach drop. “Gilbert… I don’t think I am ready to…” He almost took his hand away. Maybe he’d given Gilbert the wrong idea. Maybe he’d been too forward. Maybe this was all a mistake. 

But Lafayette only grabbed his hand tighter. “No ! George, that is not what I mean. I, ah. I am not. Assuming. Or pressuring you. It’s Christmas. You can’t spend Christmas night alone. I know I don’t want to, and yet I have for a long time. You don’t have to feel obligated.”

“I don’t want to go,” muttered Washington. “But we’ve had too much to drink. Gilbert, I don’t know. It does feel good to be here.”

“Please stay,” whispered Lafayette.

George sent a quick text to Tallmadge. He was staying.

 

Lafayette felt weird slipping into bed with Washington. For one, he was the fucking President of the United States. Second, he was much more intimidating in one of Lafayette’s shirt than in his usual suit. Lastly, he was not used to get to bed with a man he’d never even kissed before. But all that probably paled in comparison to what George must be feeling, having never been to bed with a man in a non-army setting ever. No wonder he could read panic in the man’s eyes, although his features were schooled to a mask of composure.

“You can call Tallmadge at any moment, if this is not okay,” whispered Lafayette when they were facing each other in the dark, under the covers.

“I wouldn’t do anything I don’t want to do, Gilbert,” muttered George. “I am pretty sure I can fight you off.”

“I would rather you didn’t, thank you very much,” smiled Lafayette.

“It’s just all… very new to me, Gilbert. I have never felt… for a man, I mean. And it was never the same with Martha. There wasn’t that edginess. I don’t mind. I am coming to terms with it. There is that fondness I am not prone to that is so unsettling. I am just very grateful you are letting me take the lead. Can I call you Gil?”

The question came out of nowhere but Lafayette felt his heart burst. “I would love that. I am not used to, ah, taking my time. But I don’t mind with you. I am certainly a lot to take in.”

He felt George’s hand take his next to his pillow. “You called me  _ mon chéri _ earlier.”

“I did.”

“I like it. When it’s the two of us.”

Lafayette smiled. “ _ Bonne nuit, mon général _ .”

“Good night, Gil.”

 

Waking up was trickier. Apparently Lafayette had turned into an octopus during the night. George fired a text to Tallmadge. He allowed himself to enjoy five minutes more in bed, which he rarely did, doing his best to memorize the way Gilbert breathed in his sleep, the way his dark arms looked against the white cotton of the sheet, the feel of his legs tangled with his. He gently extricated himself and put his pants and suit jacket back on. He supposed Lafayette wouldn’t mind him borrowing his shirt.

* * *

 

To : G

Thank you. Merry Christmas. Be seeing you.

 

From : G

I can’t believe you are quoting The Holiday on me. I am sure you looked it up on IMDb. You are a huge dork.  _ Joyeux Noël, mon chéri. _

* * *

  
  


Life in DC started back right after New Year’s. The politicians were back, the new year’s resolutions were a big talking point, Washington had had to make a video of it for the White House Twitter, the sky was heavy with snow that wouldn’t fall.

Lafayette and Washington hadn’t had much time to see each other. Washington had had to attend a gala in Los Angeles for New Year’s Eve, then making his way to San Francisco and hopping on to Denver, finally coming back on that day, and Lafayette was dying to see him. Yes, they’d texted. No, it wasn’t enough. He’d consulted the Presidential schedule. He knew when he could probably get some time with the man.

By 2pm, he walked to the Oval Office, an empty folder in his hand. He knocked carefully, nodding at the security guard, and walked in when he heard George call “come in”. He couldn’t help but smile as he saw Washington at his desk, looking exhausted, his tie loosened just the slightest bit. A smile lit up his face when he saw Lafayette was here. The Frenchman crossed the room in a few strides and bent down to kiss the cheeks of the sitting Washington. He let his body casually lean on the desk. “ _ Bonjour, mon général _ . How was the journey back?”

Washington groaned. “Tiring. Three hours that felt like three days. And don’t get me started on the journey to Los Angeles. We got delayed.”

Lafayette hummed sympathetically as he rubbed the President’s arm. “Everybody wants a piece of you,  _ monsieur le Président. _ ”

Washington’s eyes twinkled. “It does seem so. You’re one to talk.” Lafayette chuckled. “You’ve got something for me?” asked George as he took the folder from where Lafayette had dropped it on the desk.

“Only my presence, I am afraid. And an excuse to see you,” smiled Lafayette.

“I did want to see you, too,” muttered Washington. “I have missed this.”

Lafayette smirked, a cheeky reply on the tip of his tongue, but his eyes were drawn to the window behind the President. “George !  _ Il neige  _ !” He walked to the window, looking at the fluffy, lazy snowflakes. Lafayette hoped the snow would coat the ground, trapping them in the Oval Office. If not, well. He still loved snow.

“Do you enjoy snow, Gil?” asked Washington from his seat.

“ _ Oui _ ,” replied Lafayette. “We used to get a fair amount in Auvergne. Mom hated it. She always whined that in Paris, they didn’t get as cold as we did back in Chavaniac. Of course, Paris is so polluted. Everytime it snowed and I went to play outside with my cousins, she would stay in and knit with Mamie while listening to Debussy on her old phonograph.  _ Estampes _ . They looked beautiful together. I always felt like I was intruding. But once my grandma said I needed to stop lurking about. So I never stopped intruding. I always made it known I was there. It became a lifestyle.” He grinned. 

There was a small silence. He didn’t know if the piano he heard was in his memory. He felt Washington move to stand beside him, his eyes on the white flakes on the South Lawn. The piano was stronger. It was definitely not in his head. He turned his head to look at George, curious. He could see, in the corner of his eye, the laptop playing music.

“You never have to feel like you intrude with me, Gil. I would never not want you around.” And with that, Washington turned his head and brought his lips to Lafayette’s, swallowing his startled gasp. Lafayette wasn’t often surprised. Washington enjoyed it. He enjoyed even more when Lafayette took his jacket’s lapels in his hands to pull him in closer and deepen the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Je t'aime. Tu me manques = I love you. I miss you  
> Joyeux Noël = Merry Christmas.  
> Il neige = it's snowing  
> Mamie is how we call our grandmothers in France. 
> 
> I love these idiots.   
> As always, comments, kudos and messages on my tumblr are so very appreciated !!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening ! It's late here. 2.50am. I am dedicated.  
> Thank you, as always, for reading. Your comments and messages get me through my dark nights.  
> This chapter is dedicated to @singoeshere, my wife. Thank you for helping me with writer's block.
> 
> Here come the idiots in love.

2.3 billion years ago, the Great Oxygenation Event produced dioxygen, making sure eukaryotes developed rapidly. Soon enough, 1.2 billion years ago, the first meiosis occured following the first act of sexual reproduction, nothing worth watching on YouPorn since they were probably lost bacteria in the ocean or fucking trilobites or something; in any case, 542 years ago, complex multicellular organisms started to roam the Earth and go at it until dinosaurs stared at the stars, the stars stared back at them, a few survived, some mammals decided getting on their hind legs was safer, discovered fire and here we were. In our good old year 2015, Gilbert de Lafayette was experiencing a dilemma. Either envy the bacterias who had had more sex than him in the last six months, or curse the oxygen life apparently needed and that made him part his lips from George Washington’s, who kissed like a hungry man and that Gilbert was ready to get devoured by, ending the Lafayette lineage. 

They let their foreheads rest against each other’s, Washington bending slightly to make up for the 4 inches he had on Lafayette. They were breathing somewhat heavily, bodies ready to snap and lunge at each other’s again. The music had stopped for a while by now. 

“We should get away from the window,” whispered Washington as he walked backwards, forcing Lafayette, who was decidedly not letting go of the President’s jacket, to follow.

“Do you want to maybe sit on the couch?” offered Lafayette.

“Is that a really smart idea? I…” trailed off Washington.

“We can just… sit. On opposite couches if you want? We can talk,” said Lafayette as he led him by the hand to the couches, where George sat like his legs couldn’t carry him much further.

“No, please stay by my side. Let’s talk.” Lafayette sat as instructed, at Washington’s right, a few inches away. If there was one thing he didn’t want, it was to drive the man away. 

There was a silence. Maybe it was ten seconds, maybe it was ten minutes; time stretched and everything felt like slow motion to their brains.

“Let’s just be logical and rational about this, shall we?” started Washington. A pause. “Did we just kiss?”

Lafayette eyes twinkled with mirth. “Technically, you were the one to kiss me.”

“Ah, yes.” Washington considered this. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Oh, dear god,  _ oui, s’il te plaît _ ,” and Lafayette crashed into Washington who probably didn’t know how torturous his hands were on Gilbert’s thigh where he had no choice but to grip to keep his balance, and there was the slightest clash of teeth until Lafayette traced Washington’s bottom lip with his tongue and the President gasped and wasn’t that sweeter to Lafayette’s ears than any old French musician. Washington put his hand on Gilbert’s chest and pushed him softly away, not rejecting him, just obviously trying to get a clear head, but it was hard for Lafayette whose head swam in George’s perfume and skin and taking in his jawline, and the way his big hand felt against his chest.

“Gilbert, please, let’s get things straight,” asked Washington, and that was the presidential voice, the one you had to obey, and it did  _ things _ to Lafayette.

“I am pretty sure there was nothing straight in what we just did,” provided the Frenchman.

“You are absolutely terrible, Gil,” but Washington’s eyes were crinkling fondly at the edges. “That’s what we have to talk about, okay? I have never done… this (he pointed awkwardly at him and Lafayette. Lafayette had to suppress a smile at seeing him lose his words). And I want to, my God I do, but I also know you are more liberated and experienced than me -”

“George,” interrupted Lafayette, “I would never do things you are not ready for. I know being with a man is not what you are used to. This is good, we can take it one day at a time,  _ oui? _ ”

“I never doubted you would. You’ve been so good to me so far. So patient and understanding. But Gil, there are a few things we need to make clear.” Washington breathed deeply. You could literally see the itemized list in his brain fall into place. “This is not something that we can tell people. You are important. I am, however, not ready to jeopardize my career and maybe my life for now. We need to be discreet. Very much so. The staff already probably wonders why you spend so many evenings here. I can take care of that. Silence is a market, like every other thing. Of course, they already all signed NDAs. For everything pertaining to your work, please consult Greene. I don’t want to look biased. Maybe one day we can tell. I am not a brave enough man for that yet.” He stopped, his cheeks darker. “That is... if you envision this as a long-term...relationship? I would understand if the secrecy and my own fears make you want to stop.”

Lafayette took Washington’s hand in his. “You have feelings to sort out. This is normal. I care very little for the time it will take for me to kiss you in public. I can work with, ah, “dirty little secret”.” He leaned against the couch and stretched his long legs. “I am not leaving. I would not have waited months for a quick fuck,  _ mon chéri _ .”

“Terrible, as I said,” smiled Washington. “Don’t you have work to get back to?”

“I didn’t bring this empty folder for nothing,” fake pouted Lafayette. “I gave all my work to Ségur’s intern. I gave him a few bills for it. I can’t believe you don’t pay your interns here. When is your next meeting?”

“I have a call with the Speaker in fourty.”

“That’s more than I hoped for.” There was very little talking after that. And even when Washington had to take the call at his desk, he was happy to see his Gilbert sit of all his height sideways on the couch, legs folded, a book George had let on the coffee table in his hands. It felt very comfortable. It felt very right.

The afternoon flew by. Most meetings Washington had were on the telephone, and when there had been a knock on the door, Lafayette had very simply risen up, taking the book with him and his empty folder, thanking loudly the President for his imput while writing on a piece of paper lying around “West Room 7pm?”, Washington nodding quickly as he hid the paper, and walking out with a bright smile and a pat on the waiting woman’s shoulder, “you look wonderful, sweetheart,” on his way back to the Embassy.

 

Washington was late. It was almost eight, he was famished, the Chief Justice had talked his head off about his newborn grand-daughter he personally didn’t care much about. Gilbert was probably not even there anymore. He hadn’t had a minute to check his personal texts. He rushed up the stairs and entered the West Room in a rush. It was empty. He felt his stomach drop. Of course, it was hard to expect anyone as fast-paced as Lafayette to accomodate his hectic schedule. He heard the banging of pots and pans and walked to the kitchen. There was Gilbert, standing over the stove, shaking a pan with a doubtful eye, wearing his own shirt he had probably gotten back from the President’s bedroom. George crossed the room quickly, carefully snaking his fingers around Lafayette’s waist and kissing his cheek. 

“I am sorry I’m late,” he apologized.

“ _ Chéri,  _ you are the Président, it is hardly surprizing,” said Lafayette as he let the pan get back on the stove, reaching for pepper.

Washington felt his heart grow three sizes bigger. “You are perfect, Gil. I can’t believe you are cooking.”

“Calm your tits, sweetheart. It’s only pasta alla carbonara. I had to look up the recipe online. I sent the cook home. Do you like pepper flakes? I could do with pepper flakes. Do you have pepper flakes?” He quickly kissed George’s lips before rummaging through the cabinets. 

Washington preened under the unexpected pet name. “Do you want me to dress the table?”

Lafayette poured the spaghetti in the colander and back in the pan to add the sauce. “Can we just eat on the couch? I like how we did for Christmas. It was cozy.”

“Hm. I have Netflix. We can watch something” offered George.

“Netflix and chill? Do you even know what it means, old man?” Lafayette quipped as he filled two plates, gesturing for George to get the bottle of wine waiting on the table with two glasses.

“Watch it, kid. I will always find a descriptive documentary about liposuction that will put you off your food and any other ideas.” They sat on the couch in the sitting room, already easily familiar around each other.

“Please say suction again,” smirked Lafayette. George shoved him and he spilt a little of his wine on the couch, laughing openly.

 

They did not watch a documentary. In fact, Washington confessed he had never seen a Disney movie in his life, so Gilbert insisted they watch Beauty and the Beast but kept pointing at all the inaccuracies in the movie (“See, they say the Beast is a prince. Prince of what? France? That’s unlikely.” “Look how cheerful people look when they say  _ bonjour _ , but Belle says it’s a poor provincial town. They are the people who beheaded the king they were not that joyful” “life expectancy was 36 back then. Maurice should be dead”), which made for a pretty weird experience. 

They decided to get to bed not too late - Washington could still feel the soreness of the journey from Denver -, glad that the next day was Saturday. The only event Washington had to attend was for dinner. It was still early in the year. It gave him some much needed rest. He took a t-shirt out of his chest of drawers and turned around after putting it on and slipping out of his slacks; Gilbert was already under the covers, bare-chested in the January night.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” asked George with a smile as he got under the covers as well.

“Not if you are here,” purred Lafayette. “Also, there’s this incredible thing that’s been invented in the 19th century or something. It’s called central heating.”

“Look who’s asking for an ass-whooping.”

“Is it working?”

Washington shook his head with a smile as he turned off the light. It didn’t take long for Gilbert to snuggle up to him, kissing his cheek until George turned his head and they kissed some more lazily, at first, a bit harder then, hungrier, more eager, making his gut tighten and heat invade his whole body; Lafayette let a hand roam on his shirt and his abs, whispering “is this okay?” to which George nodded, realizing then that he couldn’t be seen in the dark, muttering in Gilbert’s ear “not bad for an old man, is it?” and the man  _ giggled.  _

“You are ridiculously proud,  _ mon chéri. _ Can I…?” He rucked up the shirt, just a bit, enough to make his point; George took his hand and slid it under the shirt, against the hot skin, making Lafayette let a moan escape and Washington wanted to hear more of that. He was hyper-aware of all the ways Lafayette let his hands trail over his torso, his chest, his belly, stopping everytime just a few inches above the elastic waistband of his boxers. He did his best to make sure to map out every plane of Lafayette’s body with his finger, making sure he could even draw it from memory if needed, deciding to ignore the fact that he wasn’t even able to draw a stick figure. Lafayette was hot and pressing against him and that was  _ definitely _ an erection against his thigh and well, it matched the one he was himself sporting. 

It didn’t take much longer for him to throw caution to the wind and grope Gilbert’s ass like a teenager. Lafayette thought his soul was going to leave his body and ascend to gay Heaven. He briefly wondered if Judy Garland would be there before making his brain focus on not rutting madly against George’s thigh as his ass was getting fondled by a hand while the other lifted his thigh up to rest against Washington’s hip. His short nails scraped against George’s stomach as he gasped for air, release, anything, and then the miracle happened, because Washington took his hand and guided it to his boxers. He let out a curse in French. Not because of the size - which,  _ did _ deserve a curse of its own -, but because he did not expect it, and it felt so good to be thrown off his game by the man once more.

Apparently, George’s brain had decided to say  _ fuck it _ and just let his new boyfriend go for third base. He wasn’t really expecting it but hey, he figured, sometimes you just need to live in the moment, and boy did he feel old thinking that. But those considerations were rapidly thrown out the window when he felt Lafayette stroke his cock through the fabric. He hummed in approval, Lafayette nibbling at his jaw. He could feel the man’s hips rocking ever so slightly against his thigh, and well, who was he if not generous? He accompanied Gilbert’s movement with his hands on the other’s ass. The nibbling became more desperate, lips looking for his, pants in his ear and echoing through his mind; he used a hand to allow Gilbert to get into the boxers, and the skin on skin contact was almost too much as Lafayette stroked his cock and thumbed at the head, pressing at the slit, smearing sticky precome on the shaft; the hip rocking became frantic, the hand and body movement were synchronized, and he heard as much as he felt Gilbert come against his thigh in his boxers, prompting him to let go, Lafayette stroking him through his release, biting at his lover’s lips, not a single thought spared for something that wasn’t them and then.

They could have decided to go get a shower like sensible people. But the bed was warm. The night was dark. Lafayette used some tissues and a bottle of water on the nightstand to clean them up, exchanging low chuckles and soft hushes, sweet nothings in the quiet of the White House. This time, Washington didn’t have to wait until the morning for Gilbert to tangle his limbs with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Use protection, kids (Usual spiel after nsfw).  
> George changed his mind. Who can resist Lafayette's hands? Who would even want to
> 
> Thank you for reading ! Please sin with me @iwillgladlyjointhefight on Tumblr !


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, good morning, afternoon, night. Thank you for reading! Your comments and messages are my bread and wine. And for a French person, that is sacred.  
> It's been a shitty day. Let's have cuddles and cookies. Just you and I. Let's forget the world.

It became a habit. Washington would come back from the Oval Office, sometimes exhausted, sometimes upset, sometimes satisfied, and his world would narrow to Lafayette, cooking, or reading on the couch of the private sitting room, browsing through Netflix to find a movie they would both enjoy, looking through his records collection, wearing his sweater or sometimes nothing at all. Flowers started to perfume the air in each room; Gilbert had confessed that his grandmother used to own a flower shop, and George would imagine the frail child he’d only seen in pictures running from a rose to a camelia, asking for their names and kicking buckets aside in his enthusiasm. He would come upstairs, driven by the smells of cumin and curry, to find Lafayette barefoot on the kitchen tiles, dancing with his earbuds on, and never tired of it. 

He wasn’t always there. He had galas and evening meetings and diplomatic trips overseas.  Gilbert as well had meetings and events to attend. Sometimes they wouldn’t see each other for a week, or more. It wasn’t easy, and they texted and called as much as they could; Lafayette had a habit of taking a picture of anything he found funny or beautiful and sending it to George, sunrises, sunsets, a clock in the middle of the night, markers of the time they spent apart, a selfie he’d taken with Myriem, George’s housekeeper (the woman was a saint. They never told, but she knew, and he knew she would be silent about it, if only because Gilbert had flowers delivered to her own home every day because she’d told him about her mother who was desperate to not see a man wooing her. Mom was happy. Myriem could live her aromantic life in peace). Washington liked to text fragments of his thoughts, “it would take us five hours to walk from the White House to Mount Vernon”, “Marx’s beard makes me want to never grow a beard”, “time is a social construct and we are never not together”. Gilbert would always answer with a lot of exclamation marks, the equivalent of shaking him by the arm excitedly. 

There had been a few almost-incidents. Like the one where he’d texted Von Steuben “about 8,000 Americans are injured by musical instruments each year” and Friedrich had asked “is this a national issue?! I will not get behind you if you ban musical instruments”. He’d only meant to make Lafayette laugh at the nation’s expense, not start a debate. Then there was the time Greene had come into the Oval Office and they had definitely heard the knock too late because Lafayette had had to jump off the desk where he was sitting, the Secretary of State worrying “Monsieur Lafayette, is there a problem with France you didn’t tell me about that requires you to go to the President?” and there was a problem in both George’s and Gilbert’s pants but there was no way in Hell they were letting Greene know that. 

But there was nothing Lafayette could not talk his way out of. With a smile, and a flourish, and people thanking him afterwards.

 

* * *

To : George !!!

Your schedule is clear after 8pm on Feb 14th

 

From : George !!!

Yes it is.

 

To : George !!!

So is mine

 

From : George

I’m going to pretend I don’t know where you are going with this.

 

To : George !!!

And you say I am the terrible one

 

To : George

Spend Valentine’s with me,  _ mon chéri _ ?

 

From : George !!!

My schedule is free for Sun 15th too

 

To : George !!!

Come over to my place. Tell the Press Secretary to say you are in Mount Vernon. You deserve a pajama day

 

To : George !!!

Don’t bring a pajama

 

To : George !!!

See because I said pajama day. And I tell you not to bring a pajama. So you’ll be naked

 

To : George !!!

I thought I would explain because I feel clever and it felt like you were not getting it

 

From : George !!!

I hate you.

* * *

 

“You know February 14th is a commercial holiday, right?” asked Washington as he draped his coat over the back of the armchair in Lafayette’s living room.

“The Greeks celebrated fertility and love for Lupercalia,” responded Lafayette, kissing him, quick and teasing, before walking to the stereo.

“Still no links with Saint Valentine, and it was more about sacrificial love, but I’ll humor you. Happy Lupercalia. Is that Frank Sinatra?” Washington drew the curtains closed, before lighting the three candle that were on the coffee table.

“I wanted to remind you of your youth.” Lafayette grinned before sitting down on the couch next to Washington, who shook his head but opened his arms so he could come closer against his broad chest. “How was your day?”

The question was so deliciously domestic Washington was afraid his beating heart could be heard by the neighbors. “It was good. Tiring. I arrived from Ireland at 1pm and barely had time to get lunch before I had to meet with the NSC, and then go volunteer to the women’s shelter. I am exhausted and haven’t changed since boarding the flight.”

“Hmm,” hummed Lafayette. “How does sushi sound for dinner? I’ll order and get the wine, you go get a shower. There should be one of your shirts and sweatpants in my room.”

It was best not to ask how they got there. 

Washington walked to the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he did so, leaving his shoes by the front door, his jacket in the corridor, his pants and shirt on the bathroom mat; honestly he was past caring, he hadn’t slept in 24 hours and just wanted to get under the hot spray. 

“I am borrowing your shower gel”, he called out to Lafayette, finally letting the water hit his sore back, his tense shoulders, closing his eyes.

“It’s a shame the delivery man will be there in thirty minutes”, he heard a voice coming from the door frame. He opened his eyes to see Lafayette, leaning with his arms crossed, huge beaming smile. Washington debated feeling embarassed for a moment but gave up. This was not the first time Lafayette saw him naked, hell, he’d had his come on his hand. 

He was feeling like taking risks tonight. “Would you have joined?” He took a hold of Gilbert’s shower gel. French vanilla. Of course. 

“ _ Permets moi _ ”, said Gilbert, sitting on the edge of the tub.”Sit down?” He did as he was told, bending his long legs, handing Lafayette the bottle. He couldn’t see, but felt hands slick with scented gel slip on his back, tightening, kneading, lathering him up, working the tension out. He groaned appreciatively. His body was definitely reacting, too, his cock already half-hard, hands and fingers slightly grasping at the steamy air. He heard Gilbert’s voice, “get up”, and he did, letting Gilbert spread foam down his calves, up his thighs, palming his ass, and he had to get a hand on the tiles on the wall not to stagger, hearing Lafayette’s soft breaths inches away from him, a small kiss just below his waist where he had not put gel yet; “turn around”, Gilbert’s face level with his hard dick, biting his lip, his hands at a stop on his thighs. A deep breath. Hands roaming on his thighs as George carefully stroked his cheek with his free hand, a hunger in both their eyes there was no point even denying. Lafayette dropped a kiss on Washington’s groin, and added a little nibble on his hipbone just because, not enough to mark, enough to make him wish for more. He looked up. “You want to?” he quietly whispered.

Washington swallowed around the lump in his throat, anticipation coating his every movement and words. “Yeah,” he breathed, and Lafayette trailed a series of feather-light kisses down his hip to his cock, nudging it slightly with his cheek and that shouldn’t have been adorable. He let his tongue run from base to tip, flat pressed on the underside; he twirled his tongue around the tip and started to put it in his mouth and the doorbell rang.

Lafayette whined as he let his forehead rest against Washington’s hip. He sighed. “I don’t have to get it now,” he complained. “Sushi is already cold.”

“So is that poor delivery man, probably,” said George, trying not to let his own frustraton take control of his voice.

Lafayette took off with a huff, stomping his feets to further signal his disappointment. Washington rinsed off.

 

“I think I ordered too much”, lightly said Lafayette.

“It’s a wonder the coffee table didn’t collapse,” remarked Washington, looking at the insane display of food, sipping at the glass of wine Gilbert had handed him. “Honey, I love sushi, but I think we’re going to have leftovers for weeks.”

“You called me honey and you said we,” noticed Lafayette, turning on the TV. “Strictly Ballroom okay for you?”

“The one by Baz Luhrmann? Sure,” shrugged Washington. “And yeah, I did. Do you mind?”

“I love it. Both the movie and the pet name.”

They ate quietly, Lafayette humming around his mouthfuls of sashimi, swaying gently with the music. Washington found it hard to focus on something else than the easy familiarity and comfortable peacefulness he felt. When they were done, Lafayette let his bent legs rest atop George’s thighs, leaning his side against the back of the couch, his turned head slotted against Washington’s shoulder, who let his hands idly slide on the Frenchman’s calves and thighs. 

“That’s a banging jacket,” muttered Lafayette, eyes fixated on Paul Mercurio sliding on his knees across the dancefloor.

“It’s a golden sequined torero jacket.” 

“I can make it work.”

There was a contemplative silence. “You probably could,” nodded Washington. “Gil, I wanted to thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything yet. We got interrupted.”

“You are the worst,” chuckled George. “You knew I was tired. You didn’t make a big deal out of tonight. This is very thoughtful and actually perfect.”

“ _Merde_ ,” cursed Lafayette with a smile, “this is when I tell the acrobats to not come out, _oui?_ _Mon chéri_ , you were away for a long time. I haven’t seen you in a week. This is as much about you as it is about me. That’s my Valentine’s day gift to you.”

“Your gift to me is peace for a night? You cheap bastard,” quipped Washington. “I am afraid I didn’t have time to come up with an appropriate gift, then.”

“I know what I want,” simply said Lafayette. He turned off the TV and took Washington by the hand, leading him to the bedroom.

 

This time, there was no one to interrupt them. Gilbert’s mouth bobbed slowly up and down Washington’s cock and it was delicious torture. His moans were more frequent, his hand tighter in Lafayette’s loose curls. A hand was tight at the base of his shaft, the other laced with his free hand. He inconsciously bucked up his hips and felt Gilbert’s throat flutter around the head of his cock, the Frenchman’s hand clutching harder; he tried his best not to repeat the motion, but Lafayette’s hand let go of his dick to hold him still, soft but strong, working his mouth down, down, down, driving his cock impossibly further down his throat until he was almost fully in and he felt a tongue tease at the vein on the underside and try to make it past the mouth to reach his balls and that’s when he couldn’t hold back, spilling down Lafayette’s throat, holding his head down without even thinking abouy it. He let go of Gilbert’s down and heard him swallow and take a deep breath, making his spent cock twitch as he sat down and cupped Lafayette’s cheeks in his big hands, swiping his thumb across his spit-slick swollen lips, his teary eyes, kissing at the red cheeks and his jaw under his ear, right where it always made him gasp, helping Lafayette lie down, panting a bit. He sucked a bruise on his chest, letting his tongue trace his collarbone, as his hand cupped the bulge in Lafayette’s boxers, snaking his fingers between the cotton and the skin. He hadn’t had much time to get his hands on Gilbert since their first experiment in January. It felt good, though, giving him time to ponder about what he was or wasn’t ready for. He definitely was ready to take him in hand. 

He tried to imprint it all in his brain; the way Gilbert’s cock felt heavy in his hand, the smooth glide of his skin when he stroked it, the precome that was leaking already and coating his palm and he felt  _ curious _ , licking at his sticky fingers, making Lafayette whine and it only took a few more strokes to get him to come in his hand, eyes shut and hand on the back of Washington’s head, letting him swallow his cry in their kiss.

Washington had to take another shower. But this time, he was not alone, and it took significantly more time. “Not bad stamina for an old man,” would say Lafayette later. Washington would push him out of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, my sinning friends. I will need to clear my head after that.
> 
> Meet me inside? I am on tumblr @iwillgladlyjointhefight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour ! Thank you all for reading. You are all my favorite people on earth. Especially you. Yes, you, with the cute face and the eyes.  
> I'll leave you to it.

 

“You should come to Mount Vernon next weekend.” Washington said this like he says he is going to meet the UNSG: casually, not a word there that doesn’t belong, a factual statement as he grabbed a peanut butter-banana sandwich from Lafayette’s hand over breakfast, handing him his tea, English breakfast, no milk, no sugar. He himself only chugs coffee from six to two pm, even though Gilbert keeps quoting articles about cortisone production schedule and caffeine tolerance, but he supposes it’s better than smoking anyway.

In any case, Lafayette knew it was not a careless thought. Mount Vernon was an old house, in Washington’s family for centuries, and he lived there with Martha. It’s Washington’s home. Probably what Chavaniac was to Lafayette - although Mount Vernon was a bit closer to the city than the entire country of France was. It was much more intimate than sneaking his way into the top floor of the White House. It was another step. One that didn’t involve mouths and hands and panting in the shower. One that only involved his heart, which he had already given up hope on, to be honest. So he just said, “the weather should be nice. It’s almost April. Is security tight enough?”

Washington curled his lips in a lazy smile. They had slept late the night before, still exploring each other’s bodies, whispering in the quiet of the night about what they liked, what tickled, what made them want more. “Of course. No one can see or get on the grounds. We even bought the part in front of the house over the Potomac. To make sure.”

“That sounds extreme,” remarked Lafayette.

“All my family were into politics,” shrugged Washington, making Lafayette think he was a bad influence on the man. “One of my great great grandfathers was particularly worried about people entering the gardens from the river. He tried to buy his share of the Potomac, but wouldn’t you know, he didn’t and just bought the fields on the other side.”

Lafayette hummed. “And what did you do with the land?”

“Nothing,” answered Washington sheepishly. “He died soon after. It’s tended to. No one was in Mount Vernon often enough to do anything with it.”

“I see,” said Lafayette thoughtfully. “Maybe we could, one day? Turn it into a park. A community flower garden by the Potomac. With a community garden where people could grow their own vegetables.” Washington felt his heart beat harder. Lafayette was making plans. He was projecting. He’d rarely seen the man think more than two weeks ahead, when it came to his personal life. He was pulled out of his own thoughts when Lafayette asked “as the President, do you think you could get Disneyworld moved there? We can buy the other fields and fit the Epcot Center as well.”

“We can even get the Animal Kingdom if you want to. Just let me get the Senate’s approval.”

“George, this is no laughing matter. Do that and I will free the elephants faster than you can say “don’t do it”.”

“Don’t do it.”

“I am calling the Walt Disney Company as soon as you walk out that door. Hope you enjoy your elephant-poop smeared house, _mon coeur_.”

Washington laughed as he kissed the top of Gilbert’s head. The Frenchman had time to find half a dozen new causes to launch into by the time he would text him in an hour.

 

On Saturday morning, Lafayette was in a black car with tinted windows, on his way to Mount Vernon. Washington had been there since Friday night, and they had thought it would be best not to arrive at the same time. Once inside the estate, they had nothing to fear. Washington had made sure the Secret Service would be extra vigilant.

The car stopped in the driveway and he stepped out, thanking the driver who promptly took off, waving through the window. The man had trouble making ends meet, what with a wife pregnant of their second kid and the first one old enough to want to go to college. He’d taken his name. The embassy paid better than the company that employed him, and well, they would always need new drivers, he guessed. Washington opened the door for him and, well, his heart skipped a beat like it had a tendency to do lately. George looked more relaxed than he had in the six months he’d been seeing him regularly, leaning casually against the door frame in jeans and a simple t-shirt.

“Hello, handsome,” greeted Lafayette as he got on his tiptoes to kiss his lips, when the door had closed behind him. He took in his surroundings, the wood panels, the old staircase, the door leading to the back garden.

“Hello,” smiled Washington. “Do you want a tour of the house?”

“Where is our bedroom?” asked Lafayette.

“Ah, so it is our bedroom now,” said Washington, just the slightest bit taken aback. But he took Lafayette’s hand and led him upstairs, to the first door on the left. A four-poster bed, white and blue sheets, matching the blue paint on the door and windowframes and the mantelpiece. A blue chest of drawers, a vase of jonquils on it.

Lafayette let his bag fall to the floor and sat on the bed. “You have a lot of rooms, _mon chéri_. I would have thought you would have taken one with a sight on the river.”

“It’s my childhood bedroom. It felt unnecessary to change rooms. But if you’d rather have a view on the Potomac…”

“The only room with a view is a room with you in it,” said Gilbert as he walked to Washington to let his hands wander around his waist. “It’s nice out. Where are your blankets?”

“In the next room. Are you thinking about a picnic?” Washington kissed his cheekbone, curls tinkling his nose.

“You need the sun, old man. Get that vitamin D. I can hear your bones creaking from there.”

“What a shame you have to leave. That was a very short weekend.”

Lafayette laughed and pressed his lips to his, a bit harder than previously. George parted his lips to bite at his lower lip, eliciting a moan and Gilbert pulled them tighter closer. Washington’s tongue met his, grasping at his ass through his jeans until he was practically lifting the man up.

It could have lasted a longer time if Lafayette’s stomach hadn’t growled so loud George could feel it against his skin. He kissed the man on the cheek before making his way downstairs, to the kitchen, to assemble their makeshift picnic.

 

“ _C’est génial,_ ” sighed Lafayette as he let his back rest on the blanket, grass threatening to wind itself up into his curls. They were sitting under the shadow of a huge fig tree, the Potomac quietly making its way a few feet away. Washington had actually taken a few folders with him; he was happy to have Lafayette over, but he was still the President of the United States, and that meant he had homework. The air was warm enough, the sun only hidden by tiny wisps of fluffy white clouds who melted away faster than Gilbert’s resolve to not fall in love with the place and its owner.

He watched Washington take off his shoes and lie down on his stomach as he read the bill Von Steuben had given him about gun control with a frown. Lafayette was content to be there, just looking at him, being a part of the great man’s life. He reached to the book he had brought from Washington’s office bookshelf. “Do you mind if I read aloud?” he asked.

“No, I don’t,” nodded Washington. “Poetry is meant to be read aloud.”

Lafayette opened the book. “I can’t believe they translated “ _A celle qui est trop gaie”_ en “ _To she who is too gay_ ”. This is gold. I should text this to Adri.” And he did, subtitling the picture “same”.

“Do you miss her?” asked George. It wasn’t jealous, merely curious.

“Yes, I do,” answered Gilbert, his voice turning softer. “I will always be in love with her, _tu sais?_ Not the same way I love you. She is just Adrienne. She is fire and rain and the storm that gives birth to both.”

“You just said you loved me,” Washington turned his head, watching him intently.

“ _Thus I would wish, one night, when the voluptuary's hour sounds, to crawl like a coward, noiselessly, towards the treasures of your body_ ”, read Lafayette, a bit louder, his voice a bit rougher. “Man, Baudelaire was a creepy son of a bitch.”

Washington decided to let it go. Time would come. “Why choose this book, then?” he went back to his reports, leaning on his elbows.

He heard Gilbert flip a few pages. And his voice, turned soft and loving, like a caress. “ _The canals are deep where the strange ships sleep far from the land of their birth; to quench the fire of thy least desire, they have come from the ends of the earth_ ”.

“ _Invitation to the Voyage_ ,” muttered Washington. “This is not surprising of you.”

“You have the Collings Squire translation, it’s the best one,” marveled Lafayette. “And I would hardly call myself surprising.”

Washington snorted. “You are right. Bonkers would be the right word.”

 

“ _And sometimes speaks she: "Beauty, thou shalt choose thine only love, for love of me who am fair; I am Madonna, Guardian-Angel, Muse!"_ ” proclaimed Lafayette dramatically. He’d rested his head on the small of Washington’s back, holding his book up in the air with both hands to read, only managing to drop it twice on his face. “I can’t believe Baudelaire predicted the coming of Madonna. This is truly incredible. Give me his translation of Like a Virgin as soon as we find it.”

“I think this means it is time to do something else,” said Washington as he got up unceremoniously, letting his boyfriend’s head hit the grass softly.

“We could make out,” offered Lafayette.

“The sun won’t be up for long now,” replied Washington.

“Is this Random Facts Hour?” moaned Lafayette. “ _Mon chéri ! Non ! Attends-moi !_ ”

Washington had started making his way to the Potomac, and Lafayette’s legs could be as long as they were, George’s legs were still longer. The Frenchman rushed to his side and wove their arms together. They walked along the river together, in comfortable silence. The sound of the breeze between the blossoming trees around them was company enough.

Washington talked after a few minutes. “Do you want me to carry you? You slow me down.”

Lafayette swatted his arm with his free hand. “You are a giant. You are going to fast. You are not on your way to signing a peace treaty.”

“I am sorry. I am sure your poor young short legs are tangling, Bambi.”

Lafayette laughed hard. He almost didn’t see the camera as Washington snapped a quick picture of them both.

“Aren’t you a bit old to be taking selfies, _monsieur_?” teased Lafayette with twinkling eyes.

Washington bumped their shoulders, and it was good to feel him restraining his strength because it would have been awkward to fall into the river.

 

“How can you live in such a big house by yourself?” asked Lafayette as Washington was finally showing him around after dinner.

“I don’t,” simply said George. “I spend most weekends at the White House or on trips. And before I was President, there was the national campaign, and before that, Martha lived here with her kids.”

Lafayette sat at the piano in the smaller room Washington had concluded his tour in. George sat in one of the cushioned armchairs. Gilbert let his hands trail on the keys.

“Do you play?” smiled Washington. “It used to be a harpsichord, but my mother thought it was too complicated. She had the piano brought in and never used it.”

“We were quite a traditional family,” explained Lafayette. “I learnt piano and fencing, and my cousin learnt violin and painting.” He started playing softly.

Washington let his back rest against the armchair, looking at his boyfriend play, humming softly. It was peaceful. Like those moments you read about in books, where the light of the setting sun hits the protagonists just so, where everything is quiet and you can’t help but think that everything is soon going to turn to shit, but not before the two admit their feelings in an earth-shattering fit of passion. Not that he would know. He didn’t read this kind of books (Martha did. Maybe he’d read one. And its sequel. They were horryfingly compelling books).

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Washington offered.

“The things I want to do are not compatible with focusing on a movie,” flirted Lafayette.

“Well, maybe we’ll give your idea a try,” teased Washington as he kissed Gilbert’s forehead before turning to walk up the stairs in a purposeful motion. He heard the melody come to a stop in the parlor, and the stool get knocked over as Lafayette stood and followed him in a rush.

Ten minutes later, they were naked under the covers, hot mouths trailing wet kisses on skin, hands roaming on leaking cocks like horny teenagers. Lafayette managed to get his lips away from the bruise he was sucking under George’s collarbone to straddle the man, pressing their erections together; he adjusted and Washington’s cock dragged along his shaft to his perineum, making him curse.

“Gil,” whispered George, “I have never…”

“That’s alright,” muttered Lafayette. “I’ll walk you through it, _oui_?”

Washington nodded eagerly. “Top drawer, please.”

Lafayette stretched to the nightstand, Washington licking along his abs who were level with his face from their absurd position in the bed, pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube. “I can’t believe you were planning on defiling me, old man.”

“I would be a pretty poor President if I didn’t have a plan to fuck the French over,” grinned Washington, flipping Lafayette, gripping his thighs, so he was the one towering over him. They kissed a little more, harder, filthier, teeth clashing. George took the lube from the other’s hand, reveling in the shudder that seemed to run through Lafayette’s spine at that.

He coated two of his fingers with the clear, cold substance, wincing a little at the strange feel, making Lafayette stifle a laugh in his shoulder. His hilarity was cut short when he felt the slick press of Washington’s finger pad at his entrance. “Tell me if it hurts.” Washington kissed Lafayette’s temple.

Lafayette’s accent was more pronounced, words bumping into each other. “It’s good. _Ca va._ Go slow, _d’accord_? It’s been a while.” He caressed Washington’s shoulder with his hand, using the other one to stroke lazily at them both.

George made sure both his finger and Lafayette’s hole were wet enough and pushed, just enough to feel the muscle give, working his first knuckle in. He heard Lafayette’s breath hitch, a constant string of French words and sweet nothings, his hips rocking gently, coaxing him to try and push his finger further in. He registered in his mind every move of Lafayette’s body, every feverish kiss the man gave him, every word of praise or asking him to slow down.

When his finger was fully in, he started pumping in and out, slowly, making Gilbert moan and arch off the bed like a cat stretching in the sunlight, all soft lines and tempting angles, and his free hand found the perfect slot on his hipbone, as he bent and nipped at Gilbert’s chest, a tongue lapping over his nipple.

“ _Je pense qu’un second doigt,_ a second one, _oui?_ ” whispered Lafayette. They took their times, stretching him out inch by inch, until he was left a whimpering mess, putty in Washington’s hand. He scissored his fingers, carefully, adding lube when he was too worried, but Lafayette was reassuring him every step of the way, and he begged “ _Juste… crook your fingers, just like that, ah_ ”, and the grip he had on George’s shoulder tightened hard enough to bruise as the most filthy moan escaped his lips. “If, ah, if you want me to last a minute more, I suggest you get that condom on, _mon coeur,_ ” said Lafayette.

Washington made quick work of it, adding lube. This, he knew how to do. “How do you want to do this?” he asked Lafayette, who hooked his legs around his waist, replying, “I want to feel you against me. Go slow? You are thicker than I remembered.” He let their foreheads bump as Gilbert framed his face with his hands. He guided his cock to Gilbert’s entrance, surprised by the sliding feeling of the lube. He focused on Gilbert’s French words as he pushed the head of his cock in, picking up a few words, “ _oui”, “doucement”, “encore”, “mon amour”._ The warmth around his cock with the arousal he had felt the whole evening almost had him come on the spot. He held on, stopping his movement for a moment.

“Are you okay?” worried Lafayette.

“This is really tight,” grumbled Washington, and he was rewarded with a laugh and a kiss. He pulled out a little and went back in, a little farther ; the laughing was replaced with a moan. He was not expecting how he felt when he bottomed out. This was just right. He let out a content sigh that Lafayette swallowed in a kiss, seeking out his tongue with his, pulling him closer, canting his hips up to make George understand that it was okay to move now. He rocked into him slowly, excruciatingly, exquisitely so, until he was sure he couldn’t forget the sound of each pant that escaped his lover’s mouth; he picked up the pace, letting his hand fall to Lafayette’s cock, jerking it in the same rythm than his thrusts, and it didn’t take long to hear Gilbert gasp and moan as he spilled between their stomachs, prompting George to do the same, deep into his ass, still thrusting a bit before pulling out, tying the condom and throwing it in the general direction of the fireplace. He wiped his hand, sticky with lube and come, on the sheet with a shrug, making Lafayette giggle. He smiled wide at him, leaning over him to kiss his silly grin off his face.

“How was your first time, _mon chéri_?” teased Lafayette as he laid on his stomach, tracing patterns on George’s arm, once he had laid down.

“ _Comme toi,_ ” smiled Washington. “ _Parfait.”_

 

They went back home to the White House in separate cars, on Sunday night, and Washington was not sure when the White House had turned into “home” for any of them. They spent the night making sure their bodies were sated for the week to come. Washington left for London on a high, the next morning. But each mile away from Lafayette was getting harder and harder, and when he had to ask Greene to repeat himself three times before getting what he meant because he was keeping an eye on his phone, waiting for a text, he did wonder how long that kind of secret could be kept up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C’est génial = this is awesome  
> Mon chéri ! Non ! Attends-moi ! = Darling ! No ! Wait for me !  
> Ca va = I'm fine  
> d’accord = alright  
> Je pense qu’un second doigt = I think a second finger  
> doucement = gently  
> encore = more  
> comme toi, parfait = just like you, perfect
> 
> Okay so about that "fucking French over" comment? I am French. Sue me.
> 
> We will soon meet our favorite petit lion. Not next chapter, but soon enough.
> 
> As always, your kudos, comments, messages, keep me going !


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, y'all !  
> Thank you for reading, as always. I swear I am going to answer your comments. I have had a social life, lately, can you believe it?? Me neither.  
> I feel like this is a short chapter. Enjoy it anyway.

They’d been apart for 2 weeks, at that point. After the United Kingdom, Washington had to fly to Germany for the G7 summit, then a climate change conference in Kyoto. It was early May, and Lafayette had been touring the Lycées Français all over the United States. It was his favorite time, back in France. The lily-of-the-valleys would bloom and get sold by children on every street corner. The weather would finally be nice enough that he could sit at the terrace of a café to chat with Adrienne. The workers’ unions would get all fired up and march down the street on International Workers’ Day, usually failing to negociate with the management and threatening with strikes; all in all, the kind of chaos Lafayette took great delight in. He missed that easy carefreeness, the night stayed up to put the word to rights with fellow students; but, truth be told, he missed George more. They had called and texted but the change in time zones had put quite a strain on their need for each other.

This time, Lafayette didn’t even pretend to carry an empty folder. He texted Washington he was on his way, knocking on the door of the Oval Office, kissing Tallmadge’s cheeks (“I haven’t seen you in  _ weeks _ , Benjamin, you look more handsome each day, your hair looks blonder”), barely waiting to hear Washington’s invite to walk in, close the door, and drop with a giggle in Washington’s lap. He smiled as George kissed his cheek tenderly.

“How is the world,  _ mon cher _ ?” he asked with his lips ghosting over George’s.

“Dreadful, and nowhere near saved, yet we try,” replied Washington, closing the gap. It was a heated, hungry kiss, neither of them wanting to ever part, tongues tasting each other, teeth biting at swollen lips, hands cupping face, in one case, and ass, in the other. Lafayette could not stop a moan from escaping as he felt Washington harden beneath him, grasping his ass so he could adjust their position, then letting his mouth blow hot on a wet spot of skin he’d sucked on right under his collar. 

“Do you think you could fuck me right here, over your desk in the Oval Office?” teased Lafayette.

“This is where the future of the free world is decided, honey,” chided Washington, but his hand did sneak under Lafayette’s boxers after opening the zipper, taking his cock in hand, stroking it at an excruciatingly slow pace. He grinned contentedly as the man squirmed in his lap, sighing shakily, burying his face in his neck. “Are you worried someone might walk in, Gil? See you all flushed and whimpering for me? That’s quite a sight,” chuckled Washington. 

“You’re getting mouthy,” marveled Lafayette, nipping at his jaw at a particularly pleasing flick of the wrist.

“I’m getting impatient,” and Washington’s grin turned more feral, as his strokes sped up. There is an expression in French,  _ la petite mort _ , meaning  _ small death _ , usually describing orgasm and the post-orgasmic bliss. It was all Lafayette could think about right then, prefering to suffer a hundred  _ petites morts _ at the hands of George Washington to all the world had to give him. It was on that thought that his senses took leave, as he came in Washington’s hand, stroking him through his release, making sure to catch it all in his hand to avoid ruining the suit.

Washington took his hand out of Lafayette’s boxers, looking for a tissue to wipe his hand with, but the only box he had was on the coffee table, and he had a lap-ful of Frenchman he simply could not bring himself to force to stand up. Lafayette seemed to understand the dilemma, looking around, grasping a handful of paper from the desk, “use that,  _ mon coeur _ ”. Washington barely had the time to read the title - About agricultural subventions, T. Jefferson - that Lafayette was already wiping his hand on it. 

“Gilbert, this is an official report,” Washington harrumphed.

“Oh, George, believe me, this is the only thing this was good for. The man is inane and ridiculous.”

He knew Thomas Jefferson, if only by reputation. A clever man. Interning far longer than usual, probably networking. He’d heard good things. He was charming, if too much of an arriviste. But truth be told, his hand’s cleanliness seemed more important to him right now than any report that could be thrown his way. Especially as Gilbert muttered “let me repay you,  _ monsieur _ ”, kissing his way down as he unbuttoned his shirt, stopping for a minute to run his teeth carefully over his nipple before tracing his abs with his tongue.

Tallmadge burst in. “Sir, I am really sorry and I know I shouldn’t, but the Press Secretary is looking everywhere for you and I told him you had left and asked me to remain here. You had a press conference fifteen minutes ago and they are getting restless, sir.”

If there was one thing George Washington was, it was punctual. He all but threw Lafayette off his lap as he buttoned his shirt back, cursing under his breath, as Tallmadge was doing his best to keep his eyes off them. Washington didn’t take the time to tell Lafayette anything as he ran to the Press Room, his phone at his ear, where he hadn’t been able to hear it, muffled as it was under the weight of Gilbert’s thighs.

 

“This is highly unprofessional,” sighed Washington, his head in his large hand, as he watched Gilbert throw shrimps in the pan. 

“Shit happens,  _ mon cher _ , oui?” smiled Lafayette. “The press won’t be bothered by waiting for fifteen minutes. You are the President.”

“I have gotten them used to better from me, Gilbert. Pictures got taken during the trip of me smiling down at my personal phone. Nosy bastards wanted to know what it was about.”

“America likes entertainment and you are a public figure,  _ chéri _ . This is not surprising.”

“You were on my mind and I couldn’t even answer a single question Greene asked me without having him repeat himself.”

He heard, didn’t see, Laf’s hand impatiently slam against the countertop. “What are you getting at, George?”

“The Prime Minister’s wife asked me if I had someone in my life and I said no. It was such a direct, simple question. I had no choice but to lie, and not by omission.”

“You do have a choice. No one is saying you can’t come out, George.”

Washington felt panic rise in his chest at the thought. It was not a feeling he was well acquainted with. He downed his glass of red wine in one gulp.

“This is not that easy, Lafayette. We can’t all be as off-handed as you in our day to day life, though you make it seem easy.”

Gilbert winced at the use of his last name. “I am not… as unconcerned as you make me to be,  _ oui? _ I accept to be your little secret, that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I am certainly not going to hold back when I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“But what if it  _ interferes _ , Gilbert? We work together, for God’s sake.”

Washington heard Lafayette swallow. He hadn’t looked at him yet. His voice came out, calm and stready. “Am I…  _ interfering _ , George? Am I  _ intruding _ ?”

This was turning dangerous, Washington thought. He tried to defuse the bomb, he did. “What I mean is, this can’t go on forever, Gilbert. We will have to face the facts sooner or later.”

Lafayette stood taller. He straightened his spine, smoothing his jacket over. Washington could sense, oh god, he could feel every little detail in the man’s posture and behavior without having to look at him, he knew, every second of every day, he knew.

“I can play secret, George, but I cannot play tame. If you feel like this is going nowhere, if you feel that you will never accept who you are and, while waiting, let me be who I am, then,  _ mister President, sir, _ I will ask permission to leave.”

No other sound than the sizzling of the shrimps in coconut milk. The beat of Washington’s heart as he tried to see the future, his future, their future? The cutting, sharp sound of steps retreating as Lafayette buttoned his suit jacket neatly and walked away.

 

George threw the burnt food out. He leant against the counter, feeling knocked out. For once in his life, he’d lost control of where he was going. When Gilbert had asked what he could plan for them, he could see nothing but a great big question mark. And he knew very well this wasn’t the kind of question, when asked by an upset lover, that you could afford to mull over for hours. He looked at the stove, sighing. Lafayette would have ordered pizza at the White House. It was the kind of eccentricity he lacked so desperately.

  
  


The next day, a Friday, Greene had a scheduled appointment to talk about the Franco-American transport equipment trade agreement he had to review and see if he wanted to extend for a year. He was accompanied by Ségur, beaming in an impeccable suit. 

“I thought Monsieur de Lafayette was the one to present the case?” frowned Washington.

“Lafayette had to take an early flight back to France, sir. Family matters. He asked me to hold the fort while he was away, so to speak,” explained Ségur.

Washington nodded. He tried his best to keep a professional face “I see. I hope everything will be well for him. Shall we get to business?” Inside, he was screaming.

 

“Would you like a drink, sir?” asked the flight attendant. She was pretty. Long legs and  very Californian, unnatural, dyed blonde hair. She smiled at him, warm and professional. She’d probably had her fill of assholes sprawling in first class, jaw clenched and angry eyes, treating her like shit. 

Lafayette tried his best to be his usual lovely self. “Bourbon, neat. Please keep them coming, sweetheart.”

She smiled, apparently charmed by his fake smile and lightless eyes. Her badge said Joanne. “Don’t have too much, sir. The ride may be turbulent.”

He chuckled as he took the glass she handed him. “Well, you see, the problem is I never now when to draw the line. I will leave that kind of control to others. Cheers, Joanne.” He downed half of it in a single swallow. To franco-american diplomatic relations, he thought bitterly.

 

Friday evening, and George had felt the need to go home. To Mount Vernon, that is. The White House didn’t feel much like home, tonight. He was greeted by Mary, the housekeeper, surprised to see him arrive when he’d said he would only be there by Saturday night, late. 

“Good evening, Mary,” he said, not feeling like chit-chatting at all. But life went on. “Anything new while I was away?”

“Good evening, sir,” she was a wiry, energetic woman with kind eyes and a warm smile. Her voice was soothing. He felt a little like crying. “We had the flowerbeds planted a week ago, like you had asked us to, if you’d like to...?”

He nodded. He didn’t want to at all. But life went on. She led him to the backyard, pointing at fresh soil. “The crocuses are there, and the lilies are a bit closer to the window - the kitchen window, that is - sir?”

“Thank you very much, Mary.” he patted her shoulder, very uncharacteristically. He caught a glimpse of the Potomac as he turned, and “Mary, please have that fig tree chopped down, will you?”

“I am sorry, sir? I know it hasn’t bloomed yet but -”

“Get the tree chopped the fuck down, Mary. Good night.”

She’d never heard him swear. She left, without a word, looking at him with surprise. The kitchen was empty, except for the faint echo of Lafayette’s moans as George had pinned his hips against the fridge to stop him from bucking into his mouth too much. The book was still on the breakfast bar, Mary probably thinking it was him reading. He opened it. “ _ How sweet, my own, could we live alone over beyond the sea! _ ” Baudelaire fell to the trash can. Life went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I fix all wounds.  
> As always, I love hearing about you guys. Comment, message me; I breathe for it.  
> Baudelaire's poem is Invitation to the Voyage. My personal favorite.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello ! Thank you all for reading.  
> I felt inspired, hence the quick update.  
> Just imagine every bit of dialogue that happens in Paris is in French okay? I will spare you from having to scroll to the notes.

Adrienne de Noailles was proud to be a no-nonsense kind of person. Although she had been raised in the upper class by a firm father, her mother lacked no personality and had always been adamant in teaching her daughter that a well-chosen word, coated with sharp truth and lethal wit, could get her farther than money and education would. She was certainly not an idiot, attending Sciences Politiques School, top grades in her promotion. By then, she’d met Gilbert de Lafayette, heir to a title that had been obsolete for centuries, but, more importantly to her dad, heir to the fortune that came with it. Everybody and their mothers (with a sad sigh) knew the boy was gay as the 4th of July. Everybody except her father, apparently. It had been a wonderful evening, where Lafayette, tired of the charade, had told Jean-Louis, her father, that while Adrienne was not to his taste, he wouldn’t mind getting a taste of the Noailles family if the man was willing to volunteer. He’d fled with a laugh, and that was when Adrienne knew she would always be his, whatever happened, in the most caring way she knew.

He was the godfather of her child, Henriette: her husband, François, held that admiration for the man that all those who had met him and couldn’t afford dancing through life as he did shared. She had him on the phone every week and her phone was full of stupid texts he’d sent her, “I miss the drivers in Paris”, “I have not yet met a single woman prettier than you”, “the sun shines brighter in his eyes than it does over the river at sunset”. And the last one, “CdG, 1.40pm.” 

Which was why she was, at 1.40 sharp, at the arrival gate in Charles de Gaulle airport, her daughter propped on her hip, eyes on the flow of passengers, tired and harried-looking. She spotted him before he saw her, she took the time to examine him quickly. The smile, too wide; the blushing cheeks, he’d probably had a drink too much on the plane; the eyes, dark and too focused where they were usually bright and all over the place, thoughts a mile a second. He saw her and she noticed the sharp breath he took, the slight shake of his hand as he hauled his messenger bag higher up on his shoulder, rumpling his tailored suit jacket as he stretched his arms to take Henriette in his arms, kissing Adrienne on the corner of her mouth like he always did.

“Do you want to talk?” she asked carefully. He shook his head without a word. “Let’s go home, then.”

 

Washington walked upstairs. He was home from South Korea - an unpleasant visit. Beautiful country, nice people, amazing culture, and then, the DMZ, the soldiers, the grey reality of war. He’d gotten to the White House around 5pm, and thankfully, his schedule was clear enough that he could maybe try and catch up on sleep - he would have Von Steuben go to the Veteran gala that night. He toed off his shoes and walked into the kitchen. Empty. Lafayette had left two weeks ago, yet he could swear the man was about to hug him from behind, naked from the waist up, purring in his ear that dinner could wait. He opened the fridge, taking the sandwich Myriem usually prepared for him when she knew he was going home from a long trip and just wanted some peace and easy snacks. He went into the private sitting room to eat on the couch, spreading the blanket over his legs, turning on the TV.

There was still the list Gilbert had made on his Netflix. Honestly, even if the man had stayed, he wasn’t sure they’d have had enough of a lifetime to watch it all. He started one of the movies. He didn’t pay much attention. It was French, and it felt stupidly reassuring to hear the language. He didn’t pay much attention, letting the words was over him in waves, a melody, Lafayette’s rushed sweet nothings as they rocked against each other at night, his foreign songs that felt like liquid love poured in his deaf ears, even the cursing when he clumsily bumped into furniture. 

He walked back to the kitchen, turning up the volume of the TV to hear the sentences he couldn’t understand, maybe one day, if he had the time and the patience, maybe, if the mention of the country didn’t torture him with dark skin glowing in the moonlight and impressions of smiling lips pressed tight against his. He took his cup of tea back to the couch, letting the steam rise in slow curls. His eyes caught the subtitles on the TV, a glance, “ _ tell me that you love me first, because I'm afraid that if I tell you first, you'll think that I'm playing the game _ ”; he turned the tv off, leaving his full cup on the coffee table, barely taking the time to remove his slacks as he fell on his bed, exhausted and sad and  _ alone _ , alone like he hadn’t been before, alone because he knew how it felt not to be.

  
  


May turned into June. The weather was hot in Paris. Not as much as it could have been, but still hot enough to run without a shirt on. Which Lafayette did, every morning, in the Jardin des Tuileries, running along the Seine to the Trocadéro, on bad days. On days Adrienne had errands to run, or evenings François and she just wanted a night for themselves, he would entertain Henriette, still to young to speak or walk graciously although she bravely waddled, showing her Disney movies, softly talking to her about how the white snow fell in the White House garden, how the Potomac would gleam with specks of copper and gold in the sunset of a quiet fall day, how his nights would be set to the tempo of the gentle breaths George exhaled in his sleep, the sunny mornings, even through the rain, as he would hand him his cup of coffee, because the sun always shone on them, like some sort of gay princes; and in his retelling of the story to his infant godchild, the story always ended well, because he was certainly not going to make the child bitter so early in her life.

He hadn’t explained to Adrienne what had happened. She had understood well enough on her own, smart as she was. His appartment near the Tuileries hadn’t changed a bit, his clothes neatly stacked in the dressing room, the half-consumed candles by the windowsill, all the trinkets Adrienne and he had brought back from their travels cluttering the room. He was never truly alone; she made a point of honor of dragging him out to lunch everyday at those hipster restaurants she loved to hate and he hated to love. She had smacked him across the face when she’d found the cigarette stubs in the ashtray by his bedroom window. He hadn’t smoked since he’d left school. But it had felt right, inhaling the toxic smoke. Replacing an addiction with an other. Adrienne raided his pockets and appartment, making sure he didn’t buy a new pack, flushing them down the toilet when he did. It was unecessary and could clog the plumbing, but she did share his flair for dramatic grand gestures. 

She had tried to get him to talk healthily about his feelings, which he loved to avoid doing with a charming laugh and a wave of his hand, “Adrienne, you know my heart could only ever belong to you and Gaga’s Joe Calderone”, but she saw his heart about to pour out of his mouth and his long-fingered hands clench like they were trying to cling to someone that wasn’t there.

 

George hated the heat that was sticking to his face like a mask. Why couldn’t he be President in Finland? Still, he smiled, shook hands, took pictures, press interviews, endless galas and summits and conferences and  _ diplomacy _ . Knox had stopped asking him how his relationship with the mysterious stranger was going. Greene didn’t notice how he was never available to see Ségur. The press turned to more pressing matters, like was Kim Kardashian pregnant or too fond of chocolate. He felt tired and honestly, he didn’t even know where that fight had come from anymore, when the void Lafayette had left couldn’t be filled by more work and more wine and more nights of restless sleep. But he was a man of words, and he knew his words had been as many cages presented to a bird who couldn’t even fathom getting his wings clipped. Gilbert deserved better. He deserved a man who would show him off. Maybe in another time, another place, he would have been that man. 

But now, and there, he was the President of the United States and he couldn’t - that was a lie he was telling himself, wasn’t it? He was just a man, frightened of what people would think and react. He was someone who didn’t know how to accept a gift he hadn’t planned for. He was a kid who’d known from childhood that he would be President one day, parents carefully ingraining the Plan in his head, military, Governor, Senate, Presidency, until he knew clearly which path was the right one, marrying Martha because it fit in, loving Martha because it fit in, letting her go because he couldn’t anymore, and letting Lafayette in just because he’d  _ wanted _ for once something that seemed so incredibly out of his comfort zone.

Tallmadge looked at him with pitiful eyes, but maybe it was actually his own pity at himself reflected in the dark glasses. Of course he knew Lafayette had left. He probably knew about the fight, too. Such a loyal man, silent, maybe more of a friend than he knew. He didn’t know, of course, that Tallmadge had every person without an appointment go back to their office; applying strict rules that had always been applied a bit losely. Maybe he’d heard Washington’s voice crack as Myriem had brought him his lunch one day when he hadn’t even taken the time to have breakfast. She’d asked where Lafayette was. She wanted to thank him again for the huge bouquets that still came to her house every morning. They had never stopped, even after he had left, unbeknown to her. He’d told her he’d make sure her thanks reached him. He’d maybe had a bit of an allergy and needed to blow his nose, after that.

 

July, and Adrienne was literally about to commit murder. She had it all planned, Lafayette’s body as it fell from the Pont des Invalides, the gown she would wear at his funeral, she would ask the band to play the Sound of Music’s “So long, Farewell”, and the gloves she would wear as she pushed him. Because if she had to stand him complaining about “not being able to get it up” when he returned from bars where he’d been unable to pick up a guy, she was ready to go to jail, and even thought that the judge could show mercy.

Then came the text.

* * *

 

From : Unknown number

Please erase this number when we are done, Miss de Noailles.

 

From : Unknown number

I believe we should talk about the subject of Monsieur de Lafayette.

 

To : Unknown number

Who in the hell are you and how did you get this number

 

From : Unknown number

I can get any number I need, miss. Lieutenant Colonel Tallmadge, US Secret Services

 

To : Unknown number

Yeah. Gilbert stop being an ass and please pick up bread on your way home 

 

From : Unknown number

Monsieur de Lafayette and President Washington have been having an affair starting January ‘15 and ending May ‘15. Your name is Adrienne de Noailles and you once had a drunken affair with a young lady who is currently the Prime Minister’s mistress.

 

To : Unknown number

Okay I am intently listening

 

From : Unknown number

It is of the utmost importance that you convince Monsieur de Lafayette to come back to the White House and POTUS.

 

To : Unknown number

He is not easily swayed. He only has one mind.

 

From : Unknown number

Honestly lady it will make both of our lives easier judging by your recent texts

 

To : Unknown number

DO NOT READ MY TEXTS ? 

 

To : Unknown number

Is GW miserable ?

 

From : Unknown number

I have known him for a long time, ma’am, and I have never seen him like that

 

To : Unknown number

This is all ridiculous. I’ll see what I can do.

 

To : Unknown number

You’d think that for two grown-ass men they would have more common sense.

 

From : Unknown number

_ Number doesn’t exist. Text could not be delivered. _

* * *

 

 

“Where is Henriette?” asked Lafayette as he opened the door to a pissed-looking Adrienne.

“I lied, she doesn’t need a nanny today. François is home. Sit your ass down, Gilbert, we are talking now.” She walked past him to the couch, smoothing her sundress as she sat.

He locked the door, hiding a sigh, and sat by her, after grabbing two bottles of chilled beer in his fridge. “We talk everyday,  _ mon amour _ . What owes me such a serious face?”

“Cut the crap, Gilbert. Why did you leave the States?” she snatched the beer from his hand, setting them both down on the coffee table.

“I told you, Adri, I missed Paris too much. How could they hold a candle to a city you are in?”

“I am not fucking around, Gilbert. I will not see you wallow in misery anymore. You either tell me now, or I am making my fucking way there and banging on Washington’s door until he explains. He, at least, may be sensible to ladies’ cry for help.” 

She would, too, considered Lafayette. And so would George, the fool. “They would not let you in.”

“Tallmadge might.” It was a low blow, dropping names as a threat.

He chuckled. “How is dear Benjamin?”

“Sick of dealing with a miserable President of the Free World. As I am to see you hide your love away until you choke on it.”

“Did he say anything?” Lafayette sat straighter at once. “Is George sick?”

“I have no idea. Talk.” She opened her own beer, taking a swig. She didn’t let him take his.

He sighed. “He told me I was getting in the way of his affairs, okay? Far from me the idea of being an obstacle to his job. And you know me, I was not about to pretend not to be there. When I asked him if he could see a future where we would both be out and public, he couldn’t. I am not wasting anybody’s time. I left. It’s safer for everyone. Cut the cord, like mom did when she left me with grandma to go to Paris after dad died - I turned out pretty good, didn’t I? Don’t stay if you know there is nothing more for you there. People grow anyway, with or without each other.”

She gaped at him, fire in her eyes and thunder in her voice. “You idiot. You fucking idiot.” He didn’t say anything. She continued. “The man, President of the United States, just finds out he can get it from men AND enjoys it, freaks out because he hadn’t seen that coming which, coming from the South and with a Republican dad, you can’t blame him for, and you leave because he doesn’t reach your standard of reckless spontaneity, that could frankly also be called crass brashness by some? You are ready to take everything at his own pace but you  _ flee _ at the first hurdle? You dare compare this to your mom leaving for the high life in Paris ? What kind of high life are you living, Gilbert? You stay here and live vicariously through the eyes of my innocent daughter. Your mom left because she was a shallow bitch; you left because you are a coward who can’t accept that he let himself care about someone else than himself for once.” She reached into her bag, at the foot of the couch and threw him a rectangular envelope. “There is a plane ticket in there to DC. Call it my blessing, or me bailing you out of the jail you created for yourself in here. Get your fucking man, Gilbert, and face real life instead of chasing a stupidly ideal of love that you might even be able to create, for once.”

  
  


He didn’t let himself start to cry until he was on the plane, silent tears running down his cheek. He tried to sort out his feelings. Self-pity. Anger. Shame.  _ Relief _ . He bought drinks for everyone in second class.  _ Pretty Woman  _ was playing. It would be okay.

There was only one time he’d wished he’d checked George’s schedule, and it was right then. He ran deliriously through the corridors of the White House to the Oval Office, inspired by the three romantic movies his flight had allowed him time to watch, ready to burst in and ask for forgiveness in what would no doubt be an incredible speech and maybe he could activate the sprinklers? It would look like kissing in the rain. Maybe it would make George laugh. Maybe not but he would find out soon enough.

When he arrived at the Oval Office, Tallmadge wasn’t there as he usually was. He looked around. No one was in the corridor. He pressed his ear to the door. Dead silent.

“Marquis?” He turned around as he heard his name called. Thomas Jefferson was standing at the end of the corridor, in a stupid purple shirt. “I had heard you were back in France. Is everything okay?”

“Is President Washington there?” Lafayette asked impatiently.

“He is on a diplomatic visit in Italy,” informed him Jefferson. “Back in three days.”

“ _ Merde _ ,” hissed Lafayette. “Okay. Okay. Thank you, Thomas.”

“You look exhausted. Do you want some coffee?”

He’d had an eight-hour long flight. Coffee seemed pretty fucking awesome. Even if he meant putting up with Jefferson. Who was talking as he walked with him and he wasn’t listening.

“ - Greene is with him actually, I have these notes to send him,” Jefferson was saying.

“Greene?” Lafayette’s heart bumped in his chest. He pulled up his phone. “Thomas, is there a quiet room we can go to?”

“I am sorry, what? I have a boyfriend, Lafayette, I didn’t wait for you to…” he trailed off as he saw Lafayette’s unimpressed face. “There is a conference room on the other side of the building. It should be free.”

“Brilliant.” Lafayette waited for Greene to pick up. “Nathaniel ? Lafayette here. Yes. Everything is much better, now, thank you. Thank you for your flexibility. I actually wanted to catch up on current affairs? Ségur is unavailable. The President? Marvelous. I heard you were going to Italy. Maybe I can provide some insight on the European position vis-à-vis Renzi. Paris was quite buzzing. How about in ten minutes? Talk to you then, Nathaniel.” He turned to Jefferson. “I have a call with Greene and the President in ten minutes.” 

“Ten minutes !” Jefferson walked faster. “My notes are in my office, if you don’t mind.” Lafayette hadn’t really invited him, but it was a small price to pay considering the man had told him where George was and how to reach him.

They walked to Jefferson’s office, the man asking him about Paris in casual French. He sighed as the man went straight to his desk to get his notes. Lafayette leant on the doorframe, taking in the room. They were not alone. A beautiful young woman was seated on a second desk where a man was working, long hair in a ponytail, murderous gaze in Jefferson’s direction. He walked over to them.

“Thomas, I didn’t take you for a rude person. I know you model yourself after the French, but we are not as impolite as everyone makes us to be.” He winked at them. He took the woman’s delicate hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “I am the Marquis de Lafayette, but please just call me Lafayette, my name is a mouthful and this one I will spare you.” He kissed the man on both cheeks, delighting in his shocked expression. Anyone who looked like he could kick Jefferson’s ass was a good man in his book.

“Lafayette? as in -” started the man, still looking shell-shocked.

“- French ambassador to the US”, interrupted Jefferson rather rudely. “We have a meeting with President Washington in ten.” When had _I_ become _we_ , wondered Lafayette? “Marquis, this lovely lady is Angelica Schuyler, and that one there is Alexander Hamilton. I urge you not to remember his name, he is interning.”

Lafayette smiled, feeling like he was losing all patience. “Weren’t you interning as well the last time we met, Thomas? And  _ mon dieu _ , please call me Lafayette,  _ oui _ ? Titles are for books, not people.”

They left, but not before Lafayette had invited both Angelica and Alex for the coffee he was desperately craving and that Jefferson didn’t look intent on providing anymore as they hasted to the conference room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have now caught up with RHADWM !  
> Please comment or message me? I love you as much as Laf loves George.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all ! Thank you for reading and sticking with me.  
> That was a long one to write. I have no idea why. I am sorry.  
> This chapter is, like many others, dedicated to my amazing @singoeshere. Thank you for everything.

Jefferson’s legs may have matched Lafayette’s in length, the Frenchman was still way ahead of him in the corridor out of sheer enthusiasm. He had a pretty good feeling about coffee later ; any person who despised Jefferson was a good person in his book. He wondered what he would be able to say or not say with Jefferson and Greene in attendance ; then again, it was not really possible to call George directly while cooped up on the plane with Greene and expect the State Treasury not to feel slightly upset he hadn’t informed first of his return. He opened the door of the empty conference room. 

His phone ringed as he sat in one of the chairs, Jefferson on his left. He tapped the answer icon.

“Lafayette?” it was Greene. “Is there a video call on this thing? If we have to talk the three of us, I’d rather see -”

“For God’s sake, Nathaniel, just give me the damn -” George’s voice and Lafayette’s heart skipped a beat, as he heard shuffling on the other side of the line, then - George’s face, too close to the screen, and putting the phone against the side of the plane so he could see Greene and Washington both and he had to stop himself from gasping, seeing George after 3 months. He instantly noticed the darker circles under George’s eyes, the almost-imperceptible way his suit hung a bit looser on his shoulders and he had to bite the inside of his cheek not to ask “do you sleep enough? when have you eaten last?” 

But he couldn’t, especially as Jefferson came into the two men’s view, greeting them with a smug “Mister President, Mister Secretary, I am so glad -”

“-If you’ll allow me, Thomas, I just need to say -” stopped him Lafayette.

“-Jonas?” asked a confused Washington.

Lafayette chuckled. “No,  _ mon _ (he bit his tongue to stop a too-familiar pet name)  _ général _ , Thomas, Thomas Jefferson.”

“Jefferson?” he saw Washington shift, no doubt thinking of sticky hands wiped on a report the man next to him had written and oh god, what would he do to feel those hands on him again, he would never leave again, never, he’d learn to be patient and to be  _ George’s  _ and to take his time, and definitely, he would need some help soon with that boner.

“When did you arrive, Lafayette?” asked Greene. “Are you feeling better? Was everything alright?”

“Yes, thank you,” replied Lafayette. “It was a temporary scare. I am not going away now. Not as long as you need me,” and he was looking at Washington and his eyes were shining.

“Your services were more than satisfactory,” hurriedly said George, “and I - we - are thrilled that you feel better and are back.”

“Thank you, Mister President, I,” his throat tightened, “I hope this will not damage our ah, how do you say, relationship?” he was happy to be able to hide behind a supposed lack of vocabulary.

“Not at all,” said Washington and Greene at the same time. He saw Washington’s hand clench, once, twice, like he was trying hard not to reach for the screen. Lafayette, on the other side, felt like this was turning dangerous. He could only hold his tongue so long. He got up.

“Gentlemen, I have to go see if the Embassy hasn’t burned down in my absence. That seems like something only the actual ambassador should do (Washington hid his giggle behind his hand. Honestly. This was ridiculous). Thomas here has some notes he wanted to share. I am sure his take on the Renzi government will provide plenty of info. Thank you for being so accomodationg and understanding.” He left, closing the door behind him. Jefferson probably had no idea what to say about the Italian stance on their armed forces in Afghanistan. Tough.

 

Lafayette was comfortably sitting in one of the armchairs of a nearby coffeeshop. His spirits had considerably raised compared to how he felt in the plane. The coffee tasted good, the company was lovely. Alexander was interning at for the communications department - he talked a mile a minute, that was clear, Lafayette was pretty sure he could sum up the guy’s political beliefs after having known him for all of an hour. Angelica was working for Communications as well, more focused on event organization, and apparently related to Peggy, the cute barista who had brought their drinks over and whose attitude reminded him so much of Adrienne. As for the curly-haired guy behind the counter -

“ -if he’d stopped making googly eyes at John and tried to talk to me,” was saying Peggy.

Lafayette gloated aloud on how he’d felt it. He could tell Alex was utterly gone and about to pass out anytime John even so much as breathed in his direction. He knew about these things. He was feeling so full of love that - well, takes one to know one, he guessed. He watched Alexander struggle with explaining how things weren’t that easy; but, oh, they were, they always were for Gilbert but at the same time it was the hardest thing, he knew. 

“Anyway, shouldn’t you be talking about trade agreements or treaty alliances?” snapped Alex.

Lafayette winced. What boring shit. Was that how politicians were supposed to be? Speaking about their work all day?“Touchy. All those boring matters are for work. As much as I love it, we all have to take a break from time to time,  _ non _ ? I am not going to stay holed up with Thomas Jefferson of all people. He tries very hard. If I wanted to talk about how great France is, I’d have stayed there. My heart is otherwise taken.” He smiled as he said that. It was good to admit, although thinly veiled, that, well, any French landscape or beautiful sights paled in comparison to what he felt for George. His phone buzzed against his thigh. The screen said “George !!!” and his heart beat in the rythm of those three silly exclamation points. He excused himself and walked outside.

“Gilbert?” the too familiar voice, calling his name, like he’d dreamt about, it was almost too much.

“George, oh, George !” it felt like a soap opera. He didn’t care. “ _ Mon coeur, je suis tellement désolé. J’ai mal réagi et je - _ ”

“Honey, you are not speaking English, I can’t follow, breathe, okay?”

“ _ Oui, pardon _ . I mean, ah, I am so sorry, I overreacted and you know how dramatic I can get and I,  _ mon coeur _ , will you ever forgive me -”

“Gil, what are you doing tonight?” asked Washington. His voice was soft. 

“Nothing. Do you want me to fly to Rome?” he was ready to call a cab to the airport immediately.

“Honey, I left Greene to deal with the Italians. I asked my pilot to turn the plane around. I will be there in 10hours - I hope we can make it quicker. Can you be at my place anyway?”

“We can have late dinner? Everything will be ready, just tell me when you arrive,” offered Lafayette.

“Yes. Please send Myriem home ? Maybe order something? Or ask her if she wants to prepare something, I don’t want you to think I want her gone because I want us to, ah…”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t assuming. But I hope we?” he could feel his brain escaping through his mouth. Probably due to the lack of blood up there. “See you tonight, alright? I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Gil. See you tonight.” the line went silent. Gilbert felt like he was about to fly away like a too-inflated balloon. 

He walked back into the coffee shop, sitting back in his armchair with a contented sigh. He smiled at Alexander and Angelica, who were attentively staring at him. Maybe he had time to take a nap before George landed.

 

* * *

From : George !!!

Pilot says we should arrive in half an hour. I will be at the White House in less than an hour

 

To : George !!!

I am there

* * *

 

Lafayette put his phone back down on the countertop, sliding the lasagna in the oven.

“And that’s when Adrienne told François not to bother with the washing machine and he was forced to wash Henriette’s cloth diapers by hand,” he finished telling Myriem as she poured him some more wine, her own glass in hand.

“I sure am glad I don’t have to bother with all this drama, Lafayette, sir,” she’d never quite managed to call him by his name only like he’d asked her. “I get enough drama as it is with what you two idiots do to each other. I had to force-feed the President. I did not sign up for that.”

“You are a saint, Myriem. I will repay you, I swear.” He kissed her cheek, earning him a swat on the arm and a giggle. “What are you doing this summer?”

“I thought I would take some time off, maybe rent a place somewhere there is a lake and my mother is not knocking on the door.”

“How does Paris sound?” he offered. “My place is gathering dust. Nobody uses it. You can stay there. I would be happy to provide a flight and Adrienne will love to show you the sights.”

Myriem blushed so hard it clashed with her skin. “Sir, I can’t accept. This is an amazing offer but you already send flowers and…”

“It’s settled, then. Just send me your vacation dates, okay? I’ll arrange everything. Oh, I am sure you will love the Institut du Monde Arabe. The curator is a friend of mine. They have all this collection from Syria, it’s really impressive.”

“I bet you fancied yourself a Disney prince when you were a child,” she said with a beaming smile.

“Ha, I actually related a bit more to the princesses.” They laughed.

“I will leave you be; you have much to talk about”, she grinned, downing her glass and setting it in the dishwasher. She squeezed his arm lightly and he let another kiss drop on her cheek. She shook her head. “You know, Lafayette, sir, if I did get crushes, I’d have a schoolgirl crush on you.”

He chuckled as he heard her walk down the stairs.

 

His gut tightened as he heard steps practically run up the stairs. He stood up from his chair, clutching tight at the stem of his wine glass, the second one, just liquid courage, not even enough to feel more than the hint of a buzz.

Washington stepped in, his suit jacket in the crook of his elbow, his tie loosened, tired-looking because of both flights, to and from Europe. He hung his jacket on the back of one of the chairs. They stared at each other, and Lafayette didn’t know what to do. Should he cry? Drop to his knees? Run to the man and kiss him senseless? Crack a joke? Start singing? What would he sing? Would Gaga’s “Yoü and I” be fitting? 

He didn’t have to wonder much more, because George walked to him quickly, wrapping his arms tight around Lafayette, pressing their bodies close, inhaling his scent with a shaky scent. Lafayette’s fingers wound themselves in Washington’s shirt, and he thought he was going to sob like a child, until a wrecked voice in his ear said “don’t you do that to us ever again” and his mouth was on George’s like it held the secret of the universe, which he probably did, at what point in the relationship would George tell him about the aliens, why did he even care when George was licking his way into his mouth ? 

The oven bipped, reminding him of the damn food - but he could do without. Let George be his wine and bread any time. Let him nibble at his jaw, devour his neck, drink at his lips, and maybe somewhere else, too, if he could. But the stupid noise made George part from him (he was not too proud to admit he openly whined) and look around in confusion.

“I made lasagna,” he whispered. “Thought an Italian dish would be appropriate,  _ oui _ ?”

“You...you made lasagna?” George quirked an eyebrow. “When did you learn that?”

“Thanks,” he snorted. “Alright, Myriem made it for us and told me to take credit,  _ d’accord _ ? The woman deserves a raise.”

“She does.” Washington grabbed the oven mitts and took the plate out of the oven. Lafayette delighted in the way his pants’ legs stretched on his thighs. “Did you talk to her?”

“We opened the bottle together,” replied Gilbert, handing him a glass, when he had set the scalding plate on the countertop to cool down. “She told me you needed to get some food in you. She was worried about you.”

Washington took a sip of the wine. “Do you want to go on the couch while the food gets eatable?” They walked together to the sitting room. To Lafayette, it felt like time had stopped. The couch, the plaid Washington laid on their legs once they were sat, their legs intertwined, George’s shoulder solid against Lafayette’s.

“George, what I did, I…” Lafayette started.

“Gil, no. Please. I was the one to drive you away. I freaked out like a kid. I never should have said you were in the way.”

“I shouldn’t have left. I said I wouldn’t. I should know better than to run at the first obstacle. It all felt so out of control,” tried to explain Lafayette.

“I don’t blame you. It is all a lot to take in,” said George as he shook his head.

“Do you…ah… maybe want to take things slower?” asked Lafayette, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Were you too overwhelmed by our relationship before?” worried Washington.

“Not at all!” yelped Gilbert. “I was perfectly happy to come back to you every night we could. I was happy to be yours any time you wanted me.”

“I never wanted you to stop being mine, not then and certainly not now,” softly said Washington. Lafayette set his wine glass on the coffee table and climbed in George’s lap, pressing their lips together. They kissed a while, soft at first, then more and more heated, until Lafayette was grinding his hips against Washington’s very noticeable erection. The President’s hums were getting more urgent, more frequent; he cupped Lafayette’s ass with his hands and lifted him off his lap, Gilbert wrapping his legs around George’s waist as he was carried to the bedroom. 

 

Ten minutes later, they were both very much naked, as Lafayette’s mouth was hard at work on Washington’s balls, stroking his cock, slick with spit. He reveled in the little gasps and moans George let out, his own dick hard and leaking precome on the covers. He could feel every twitch and shiver in his hand as he popped one of his balls in his mouth, running his flat tongue against it as he let it out, before licking a broad stripe from his perineum to the tip of his cock, earning a tug on his untied hair for that. He kissed his way up George’s body until he was straddling his hips, their cocks rubbing against each other, sloppy kisses preventing the oxygen from reaching their exhilarated brains. Lafayette covered Washington’s chest with his. It was hot in the room and the sweat cling to them like a second skin.

Lafayette reached for the lube and condom he knew were in the nightstand’s drawer on George’s side. He felt Washington’s chuckle against his stomach. It occured to him that it would be polite to inquire about the possibilities, there.

“Do you want to… is it too early to…” he eloquently stammered.

George just stared at him incredulously before letting out a laugh. “Just shut up, honey. You are definitely on the menu.”

Lafayette’s thoughts drifted pointlessly to the lasagna, probably cold by now in the kitchen, and isn’t that just the perfect post-sex snack? Probably not. Cold pizza was always his go-to. All culinary thoughts were chased from his mind as he felt a lube-coated finger nudge at his hole. He threw his arms around George’s neck, biting at his lower lip as he rocked on his knees to accelerate the process, taking George’s finger almost all at once. He was ready, he was so ready, everytime he went out in Paris it was all he could think about and no fantasy could ever compare, the hands of the men handing drinks to him hadn’t made him shiver with thoughts of how easy they could break him or make him. George’s thrusts in him were slow and reverent, even as he was pulling out to add a second one - how could he ever have doubted that this was the only man he could ever need and want ? He let out a gentle whine as Washington started scissoring his fingers. Not once did he let go of his lips.

Lafayette cracked open the condom and rolled it down on George’s cock, before letting himself finally take it, slowly lowering himself, Washington letting his hands caress his taut thighs. Their rythms was careful and loving, their breaths mingling, sweaty brows against each other’s. Lafayette’s hard cock was trapped between their bodies, but he didn’t even want to ask for more, Washington rubbing against his prostate like only he seemed to know, or so it felt in his pleasure-hazed memory. 

It didn’t take long for Lafayette to recognize the signs of Washington’s orgasm approaching : the way his arms tightened around him infinitesimally, lips leaving his to bury his head in Gilbert’s shoulder, the heavy, controlled breaths. It was so rewarding, in fact, that he almost came from it. “Please,  _ mon coeur _ , please,  _ touche moi _ ,” he begged in Washington’s ear, kissing his temple; George’s big hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, languid, until Gilbert used the muscles in his legs to rock a bit faster, George’s hand motion following. They came almost together, Washington first, his shout muffled against Gilbert’s shoulder, his teeth sinking in.

 

They didn’t even bother with a shower. That could wait. Washington tossed the condom and the tissue he’d used to clean Lafayette up in the garbage can by the door and walked out, naked, to put the poor lasagna in the fridge. He went back to bed, under the sheet, facing Gilbert, taking his hand.

“Maybe we could get tested? Stop with the condoms?” he offered.

And really, that was the most romantic thing Lafayette had ever heard in this 21st century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mon coeur, je suis tellement désolé. J’ai mal réagi et je - = Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I reacted badly and I -  
> Touche moi = touch me
> 
> USE PROTECTION OR GET TESTED AND USE ANOTHER FORM OF CONTRACEPTION, KIDS.  
> Yes, I know POTUS would never blow off a diplomatic trip. Humour me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading !! As always, kudos, comments and messages are the way to my heart. They guarantee a glass of wine with me when we meet.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody !! Thank you for still being there.  
> God I am so sorry I didn't update earlier. That week has been CRAZY on a personal level. Good things, but intense on a mental health level (sorry if it's tmi ! I feel like I really have to apologize.)
> 
> In this chapter, Lafayette meets the second man of his life. He and George are also disgustingly sweet.  
> Please note that now the chapters are complementary with Relax Have a Drink with me, aka, if you want to read about the Lams date, it's over there !

After that, it was like Lafayette had never left. The couch in the President’s sitting room was covered again with that thin icy blue plaid he liked to cover his naked legs with as George and he watched movies late into the night - their sleep schedule was definitely fucked up. The fridge was never empty of white wine and a fresh bouquet of carnations was propped up every Monday morning on the corner of the desk in the Oval Office. Talking of the Oval Office, he had become a semi-permanent fixture, sprawling easily on the couch everytime he could and Washington was not in a meeting or absent, both quietly working in comfortable silence. It felt good. It felt really good. Even Tallmadge had stopped giving him the side-eye when he’d heard the President’s booming laugh from within the Office - something he hadn’t heard in a while now. People just rolled with it, saying the French-American relations looked radiant and rejoicing that lonely George Washington had made a trusted friend.

It was good that Lafayette had made friends too. He’d texted Alexander Hamilton quite a lot, delighted by the other man’s wit and eagerness to please, and invited Angelica to lunch a few times when George wasn’t available (he tried to get the most of every occasion he had to stay with his boyfriend). It made the nights George was across the country that more bearable. 

He was trying to make sense of a French newspaper talking about the upcoming regional elections and the need to suppress Senate anyway, sitting cross-legged on the couch, when George spoke.

“I just got a mail from Thomas Jefferson,” he said sternly.

“ _ Mon pauvre chéri _ . Do you need a hug or eyewash?” worried Lafayette, getting up, leaving the newspaper on the floor, flopping into Washington’s lap who had seen it coming and moved back his chair, putting his arms around Lafayette’s waist.

“He says Mr Hamilton is, and I quote, distracting him from his work and therefore endangering the progress of our nation.” 

“Hmm,” smiled Lafayette from where he was trailing kisses along Washington’s jaw.

“He apparently said he would shove his chair up his bottom,” continued George.

Lafayette snorted, coughing a little inelegantly. “Aren’t you just a kindergarten teacher,  _ mon coeur _ ?”

Washington shook his head with a small smile and a hum, probably due to Gilbert’s hand making its way in his shirt from which he had popped a few buttons.

“There is no way a chair would fit,” he quietly wondered.

“I don’t know,” mused Lafayette. “Wonders can be achieved with a can-do attitude and a bucket of lube.”

“You are disgusting,” laughed Washington with a quick smile on Lafayette’s mouth, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as two fingers pinched his nipple. “Jefferson should know better, send this to HR.”

“The man thinks he is above it all,” shrugged Lafayette, moving to straddle George. He took his mobile phone out of his back pocket as he grinded against Washington, letting the man nip at his throat.

* * *

 

To : Petit Lion

Did you seriously threaten Thomas of putting a whole chair up his ass

 

From : Petit Lion

How the fuck do you know that

* * *

 

“Sweetheart, are you texting,” reprimanded George from where he was working a dark bruise into Gilbert’s collarbone.

“Oh,  _ mon coeur _ , I wish you had met Alex. You two would get along. He knows where he is going. And I particularly like where you are going,” he added as Washington grabbed his ass.

Washington sighed. Stayed silent for a minute as Gilbert rubbed their erections together through their clothes. “Send a mail, will you? Tell Hamilton to come. Jefferson, too. If only to tell them to tone it down.” He let Gilbert maneuver to sit sideways on his knees, pulling George’s laptop to his own knees.

“Can I make it threatening?” he asked as he typed gleefully.

“Make it sound like something I would say,” advised Washington, biting at his earlobe with care. 

“Here,” laughed Gilbert as he clicked on “send”. “It sounds business-like and frightening.”

“Do I frighten you?” asked Washington with a fond smile, kissing Lafayette’s cheek.

“Only when you take your clothes off,  _ mon chéri. _ ” Lafayette giggled as Washington pushed him off his lap. 

 

Lafayette took great pleasure watching Alexander get scolded then praised by Washington. He made a mental note to add that mechanism to their sex life. He waved at Alex as the man walked away, not sure he had seen him through his bright distracted eyes.

“I still think it would have been edifying to see how that chair fit,  _ mon général, _ ” he teased as he took his rightful place back on the President’s lap. 

“Please, Gilbert, behave for once,” scolded Washington.

“Not if I can help it,” giggled Lafayette. “When is your flight to Ottawa leaving? at least we’ll be in the same timezone.”

“Four pm. We have two hours together left.” frowned Washington. He really did hate to leave, even more now things were even better than they had been.

“Well. Then I’ll be quick and merciful,” smiled Lafayette as he kissed his boyfriend, a hand snaking down to his belt to unbuckle it. All in all, they didn’t need two hours. Thirty minutes would suffice.

  
  


“20 dollars that Alexander won’t spend the night with John,” announced Angelica.

Lafayette was sitting on her carpet, pouring three very large glasses of champagne with great joy. George had left for Canada, and Angelica had sent him a text to tell him Alex had  _ finally _ asked John out. It had taken him approximately .7 seconds to get her adress and here he was, in her living room, suit jacket shed on her couch’s back like he owned the place. Eliza had been the one to open the door as her sister had been taking a shower; he hadn’t been bothered in the least, kissing both her cheeks, introducing himself as Angelica’s French lover, and making his way to the bathroom only for Angelica to shriek and throw a bottle of coconut-scented shower gel at his head. Now she was dressed, though, and had considerably warmed up to him after he had shown her the two bottles of Moët he had brought as celebration.

“You have no faith, Angie. Our lion man is going to finally get some tonight,” he cheered as he clinked his glass with Eliza’s.

“I can’t believe she lets you call her Angie,” wondered Eliza.

“It is out of deep love, my dearest Eliza,” gushed Lafayette. “Our beautiful Angelica hopes I will one day reciprocate her feelings. Alas, she terrifies me way too much.”

“Shut up,” groaned Angelica. “This is good champagne. I let him do as he pleases because I can’t make him stop. His head is harder than Peggy’s. It’s a battle I’d rather not fight.”

“Then we stand in mutual respect and mild terror,” said Lafayette, raising his glass to her, which she returned with a smile. “I will still hold you to that bet. I trust my  _ petit lion _ .”

 

Two hours and a bottle of champagne later, a giggly Lafayette was pushing Eliza and Angelica in a taxi to Alexander’s place.

“If you are so sure Alex will come back, we might as well welcome him back after his evening of  _ fol amour _ ,” he had told Angelica.

“Do you even have his adress?” had asked Eliza.

* * *

 

To : George !!!

_ Mon chéri _ , could you get me Alexander’s adress with your presidential superpowers?

 

From : George !!!

Are you getting into trouble?

 

To : George !!!

I just might. You’ll have to decide which punishment suits the deed.

 

From : George !!!

Calling Chief of Staff right now

* * *

 

Three minutes later, he had the adress and the promise of a great night when George would come back.

 

“Holy shit, you are gorgeous,” said a gaping Lafayette as a God opened the door.

“You’re not Alexander,” frowned Angelica.

“I’m his roommate, Hercules Mulligan,” said the guy, and Lafayette handed Eliza the bottle of champagne he had brought to grip Hercules by the shoulders and kiss him soundly on both cheeks.

“This is definitely an improvement. Oh, I hope Alexander never comes back now !” he gushed as he let go of Mulligan and strode inside, walking straight to the records collection and starting to rummage through it.

“I am Angelica Schuyler, this is my sister Eliza and the storm over there is Lafayette,” said Angelica, Hercules letting the girls in. “We are - Lafayette and I - Alex’s coworkers.”

“Yes, he told me about you,” nodded Hercules. “Beer?” he didn’t wait for their answer to walk to the fridge and get four bottles. “Alex is on a date right now. He didn’t even let me give John the shovel talk.”

“They are on their way back,” informed him Eliza. “John texted my sister Peggy who texted me.”

“I am sorry,” intervened Lafayette, “but if Alex is stupid enough to go on a date with John when he lives with Hercules, I will have no choice but to have George send him to gay jail. John is like, a 7 on the Hercules Mulligan scale.”

“George, the President?” spluttered Eliza in her beer.

“I am not gay,” shrugged Hercules, “but I appreciate that.”

“What is gay jail?” asked Angelica.

“That’s alright, Hercules, I will admire you like I admire  _ The Creation of Adam _ , from afar with respect for the people who made you. Angelica, gay jail is a jail with all gay people. They sing  _ Gypsy  _ all night and watch  _ the Wizard of Oz _ every Thursday,” blabbered Lafayette.

“Oh honey,” cooed Eliza. “You have much to learn about prisons.  _ Cry-Baby  _ was not accurate.”

 

The following morning:

* * *

 

From : George !!!

I am taking the car straight to Mount Vernon when I land, will you be there?

 

From : George !!!

I guess you are still sleeping. I hope you had fun

 

To : George !!!

I am still at Alex’s. His roommate is RIDICULOUSLY ripped

 

From : George !!!

Did you sleep there? I do not have as much time to work out as I should. Did you sleep at all?

 

To : George !!!

Hercules offered to share his bed. You look great  _ mon coeur _ . I am suitably rested that you may tire me out again

 

From : George !!!

You shared a bed? I know for a fact you don’t wear pajamas. You better be at Mount Vernon in an hour and that ass better be ready

* * *

 

Lafayette rose up from the chair he’d been sitting on, drinking coffee and making small talk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. Your country needs me.”

Alex’s eyes were sparkling. His date with John had been a success. Lafayette felt his chest tighten a bit as he thought about how public Alex and John could be.

“Are you banging the Prez?” Alex yelled. Lafayette laughed. Not at the moment, but he was about to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is our man HERCULES MULLIGAN  
> As always, I live off your kudos and messages. No, really. They are 80% of my daily bread.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello !!  
> WOW that was some crazy writer's block I had there. Thank you for still reading though !! Life is hectic !  
> As always, thank you to my wife. Liebling, you get me through.  
> I know you liked this scene in Relax. You dirty sinners.  
> This one is dedicated to Mirry. I know you have a thing for under-the-desk bjs. Also to Chris, my golden-haired Enjolras.

From then on, when Lafayette was not sprawling on Washington’s couch, he was lounging on Alex’s, feeding Hercules and cooing at his various features, which the man accepted quite gracefully. Needless to say, Lafayette took great pleasure in telling George all about it, making his boyfriend hum discontentedly and kiss him like he was claiming him. The incoming French President visit meant that they spent more time together but also that Greene was tagging along; they tried to take each opportunity they could to enjoy each other’s company, but it usually meant tired cuddles late at nigh watching some TV show or another, quick kisses in-between meetings, and a whole lot of texting, innocent or not quite so. 

But the most important, to Lafayette, was that he still got to watch the sun rise on George’s face, casting golden ponds and dark shadows across his cheeks and lips, before pretending to sleep when he heard Washington’s breathing quicken in sign of his waking, for the sole purpose of letting himself be thoroughly kissed awake.

It was on such a Monday morning that Lafayette woke up, Washington’s lips on his, morning breath be damned - although, if you asked George, Lafayette always tasted of peppermint and cool white wine. The air already smelled of fresh coffee and pastries; Myriem liked to come in a bit earlier on Monday mornings and make sure their week got the best start it could.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” whispered George with a smile, sitting by Lafayette’s side.

“Good morning,  _ mon amour _ ,” answered the Frenchman. “It seems only fitting. I slept a hundred years and get awaken by an old man.”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who’s just slain a dragon.”

“My dashing hero,” sighed Lafayette, throwing his arms around Washington’s neck, using it as leverage to sit up and nip at Washington’s skin.

A low groan coming from Washington’s throat made his lips tremble and part in a smile. “sweetheart, I have a country to run and you have havoc to wreak. We won’t get anything done if you try to keep me in bed with you.”

“Let the country run itself,” whined Lafayette. “What good is an endless day of contracts and meetings next to ramming your cock in my ass, which I happen to know is very good indeed?”

George choked a little on his own spit. “Do you think it’s worth letting the Republicans take over and maybe get into a global war against the Middle East?”

Lafayette hummed softly, his hand sliding its way up Washington’s thigh to the erection already tenting his boxers. “I don’t know, do you think it’s worth it?”

“Every day is already a damn war with myself when I don’t get to touch you every second”, said Washington before capturing Lafayette’s lips in a hungry kiss.

“I can be free all afternoon,” whispered a breathless Gilbert when his mouth was free, not that he ever wanted it to be.

“Come to the Office,” replied Washington on the same tone. “I can ask Von Steuben to see Knox and the MHA, move my briefing to the morning and Tighlman right before lunch. Maybe we could go out for dinner? With your Président coming it will look diplomatic.”

“That sounds like a plan,” nodded Lafayette, nuzzling at Washington’s neck. “I can probably terrify a few interns into doing my job.”

 

* * *

 

From : TJ

I know he is your friend but Hamilton is being a child.

 

To : TJ 

I am not his nanny

* * *

 

To : Petit Lion

Thomas just texted me apparently you are being a child

 

From : Petit Lion

HE was the one to put my pens up on the cabinet

 

To : Petit Lion

Use a damn printer Alexandre

 

From : Petit Lion

It’s on Jefferson’s side of the office

* * *

 

To : George !!!

Do you want children mon coeur

 

From : George !!!

Are you pregnant ? How does that work ? 

 

To : George !!!

My babies are fully grown and one of them needs a printer

 

From : George !!!

I am not quite following

 

From : George !!!

Is it some kind of roleplay again??

 

To : George !!!

Can you send Alex a printer before he sets Jefferson on fire?

 

From : George !!!

Printers don’t grow on trees

 

From : George !!!

Also I am POTUS?! This is not my job

 

To : George !!!

I’ll find a way to repay you this afternoon, Mr Hotshot President.

 

From : George !!!

Calling IT right now

 

To : George !!!

Wait I’ll send you a note to add, I want to scar the boy

* * *

 

He quickly sent an intern to the White House. If he could remind Alex of the possibility that he knew what the President’s dick tasted like, he was not about to pass up the opportunity.

* * *

 

From : George !!!

You are terrible.

 

To : George !!!

Lunch?

 

From George !!!

You are a godsend. Tighlman is still here but I hope he will leave before 1.30. Is it too late for you?

 

To : George !!!

I’m flexible. You are texting me while Tighlman is there? What a naughty President.

 

From : George !!!

Flexible indeed. He is sitting on the couch we had to flip the cushions of. He thinks I am texting Von Steuben.

 

To : George !!!

Lying to your staff. A true politician.

* * *

 

 

Lafayette opened his suit jacket as he walked into the coffee shop. It was comfortably warm inside, not too many people were queuing, and Peggy flashed him a smile from behind the counter as he came in. He’d seen her once before, with Hercules, and appreciated her wit and brashness.

“Hello,  _ connard _ ,” she greeted cheerfully.

“Isn’t that just charming,” he laughed.

“John told me it was an endearing term for you. I am pretty sure it’s an insult but it seems fitting anyway.”

“Can’t argue with that. How is he? Can you get me the chicken and bean salad, a tomato and mozzarella panini, a cinnamon roll, a pecan tart, a large latte macchiato with a caramel shot and an espresso shot, and a large vanilla latte with mocha chips?”

“Holy shit. Are you feeding a small army? Is France finally coming back to claim Louisiana?”

“I’m treating my secret lover to lunch. My happiness and sexual satisfaction depend on your food,” he said as Peggy got to work on his order.

“Well then. Considering how little John’s been getting, consider the aphrodisiac virtues of our food shitty at best and inexistent at worst. No, come back,” she told a customer who had overheard her and had started to leave his place in the queue. “Our food will guarantee great sex and it also cures early baldness. Not that you need it. Fuck. Have a good day anyway,” she called as the man stormed out.

Lafayette handed her some cash and let the change fall into the tip jar, moving to the side while she took the next order, and then closed the lids of his cups. He took them from her. “Great service”, he loudly said. “Easily the best in town, and this side of the Atlantic. I know this food will get me laid !” He winked at her and walked out.

 

 

“A cinnamon roll for my cinnamon roll,” announced Lafayette with a kiss on Washington’s cheek as he dropped his purchases on the desk of the Oval Office.

“You are so sappy,” smiled Washington as he leaned indulgently into the kiss. “Is that a mozzarella panini? Is it yours? I wanted to go to an Italian restaurant tonight.”

“Take what you want,  _ mon chéri _ . I will only feast my eyes on you,” declared Lafayette as he sat on Washington’s lap.

“In any other case, darling, I would swoon, but I’m famished. Eat the salad, it’s good for your body. It’s already too late for my poor clogged arteries.”

Lafayette pouted. “So hot. I try to be cute and here you go about cholesterol. Your flirting skills are truly astonishing.”

Washington shrugged, chewing a mouthful of panini. “I am keeping you for dessert.”

“Who wouldn’t want ass for desert?” idly mused Lafayette, popping a forkful of salad into his mouth, wiggling ever so slightly into his boyfriend’s lap.

Washington buried his face into Lafayette’s shoulder to try and stifle his laugh. “Wouldn’t you just look great bent over my desk with your legs spread,” he muttered with a smirk in his voice. This time, it was Lafayette’s turn to choke on a bean.

When they kissed after lunch, George’s mouth tasted of caramel and cinnamon. Lafayette was convinced that it was what bliss tasted like. If you asked Washington, love was vanilla and pecan. But truth be told, it changed every meal they took together.

 

Thirty minutes later, Lafayette was sitting on the couch, his long legs propped on the coffee table (Washington had renounced trying to kick the habit out of him), reading a corny Harlequin novel, while Washington read a quick report about the state of the troops in Afghanistan.

“Can I blow you?” asked Lafayette.

“People are dying in the Middle East,” answered Washington.

“Can I blow you in consolation?” amended Lafayette.

“This would be acceptable,” nodded Washington.

Lafayette made his way around the desk, getting on his knees, turning George’s chair around. Washington spread his legs open to accomodate him with a fond smile. Lafayette let his hands run up Washington’s toned thighs, a contented sigh escaping his lips. It had been ages since they’d had the time to really be intimate, apart from rushed handjobs and sleepy showers together. Sure, the setting wasn’t ideal, but it only made Lafayette feel bolder as he unzipped George’s pants, the man shimmying in a ridiculous way to help him get his pants down. Lafayette giggled against his dark thigh.

“Are you making fun of me?” mock-frowned Washington. “In mocking me, you mock that great nation.”

“Are we really extending the metaphor? Do I have to suck you off for the armed forces across the sea?”

“Didn’t they tell you that’s part of your duty as French Ambassador?”

Lafayette laughed as he buried his nose right where Washinton’s thigh met his pelvis, where the scent was so definitely, so privately George’s. Let the country have him all day; in the end, he was the one who got to call him  _ his _ , he thought pssessively. “Then paint me in broad stripes and make me see the bright stars,” he smirked before getting his mouth around Washington’s cock head and sucking hungrily.

Washington gave out a low moan, shuddering a bit before leaning back in his seat, his eyes never leaving Lafayette’s mouth on him, slowly, torturously, making its way down his shaft. Lafayette’s hands came up to grip lightly at George’s sides, his hipbones, trailing up his ribs for one and down to his balls for the other; Washington took his hand in his and slightly hunched over to kiss each fingertip, reverently, eliciting a moan that went straight from his dick to his elated head. Lafayette’s fingers tightened around his own, bringing Washington’s broad hand to the back of the Frenchman’s skull, who had started to bob up and down a bit faster, his tongue swirling around Washington’s cock and occasionally darting up when he needed to get some air to lick at the precome that was leaking.

Washington hummed as he wound his fingers into the tight curls. “My sweet, sweet boy,” he whispered. “How could I even think I could live without access to that mouth of yours around my dick? Isn’t it just how we were meant to be?” Lafayette nodded eagerly, his eyes locking with George’s as he went a bit farther down, his throat opening up beautifully to accomodate Washington’s thick cock, a few tears beading at the corner of his adoring eyes. “Look at you. I wish I could take a picture, remember you as my greedy cock slut always. How about that, Gil? Weren’t you desperate for it, as soon as you offered to come in today?”

There were three knocks at the door before Lafayette could answer. Washington made a show of ruffling the stack of papers in front of him while Lafayette all but threw himself under the desk, Washington pressing his chair as close as possible to the desk while shoving his pants back up, not bothering with the zipper. “Come in,” he said in a strangled voice.

Lafayette heard the door open and footsteps approach. “Mr Hamilton,” greeted Washington, and it was hard for Lafayette not to giggle with relief. He happily eyed the boxer George had not even properly pulled back on, the tip of his cock above the waistband, and leaned in to mouth at Washington’s dick through the cotton, wet with his spit that had coated the length of it, delicately opening the zipper to nuzzle at his balls as he heard Alex’s footsteps get closer to the desk. Washington let out a sigh and answered Alexander in a steady voice, and Lafayette lightly ran his teeth up the throbbing bulge when he heard his own name in Washington’s mouth, like a reminder that he was here, and lapping hard at the head. Washington finished his answer with a kind of urgency in his voice Lafayette knew well; he pulled on the fabric, trying to get it all in his mouth before the man came, but it was too late, and as the door closed, Washington’s spend painted two stripes of white on Lafayette’s cheek and nose, surprising him into banging his head on the desk above him. “Fuck,” he let out.

Washington let him crawl out, moving his chair out of the way. “I think I liked the audience,” he quietly remarked.

“You need to work on your aim,” frowned Lafayette, running his finger along the warm liquid against his skin, popping his soiled finger in his mouth.

Washington let out a wimper. “Let me return the favor.”

 

Lafayette’s phone buzzed in his hand. “Am busy,” he texted back to Alexander, wondering if he could send him a quick picture of the three fingers Washington was working him to orgasm with.

 

  
Five days later, their life was about to change. But they didn’t know that yet. For now, Lafayette joined his boyfriend at a private table at the  _ Fiola _ , sharing lobster ravioli and stealing bites of veal ribeye, enjoying what was about to be one of his last moments of privacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it !! As always, I feed off comments and messages. I'm on tumblr @iwillgladlyjointhefight . Thank you for sinning with me. Next time, we get to the Drama.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello !! Thank you for being here !  
> Thank you for each comment and message. I can't answer much, unfortunately, I am back at work and GOD it's tiring. But every sign from you goes straight to my heart, I read them all, I promise.  
> Shall we, then?

Spending his afternoon with French Prime Minister Vergennes was far from what Lafayette would call a good time. The man was nice enough, with more words than ideas, making him a great frontman but a harmless politician, just what the strong-headed Président Bourbon needed; watching him listen intently to the American Pharmacists Association’s exposé was entertaining. But you kinow what would be more entertaining, thought Lafayette? Getting his suit peeled off by Washington. The man had been the one to help him into the fitting pants this morning, it was only fair that he was the one to take them off. His thoughts drifted to the night before, his hands on George’s tensed shoulders, the laughs he’d let out watching _the Dictator_ with him, his fingers idly massaging his scalp when Lafayette had laid his head on his lap. Ever since he’d come back, things were even easier and stronger. George talked more and more, of vacations together, renting a chalet together, deep in the woods, by a lake; Lafayette watched his eyes grow fonder and thoughtful when there were children around him, and he couldn’t help but wonder, what if? Washington would make an excellent father, a great counterweight to his own careless nature. But he was getting ahead of himself.

He didn’t think he would have time to see George before the gala, but was surprised to hear the door to the bathroom open when he had just started to run the water. He could make out the form of Washington undressing throught the foggy glass, before his boyfriend joined him.

“Bourbon and his wife went to rest and change before dinner,” said George, snaking his arms around Lafayette’s waist, letting his chin fall softly on the top of his head. They stayed like that for a minute or two, just letting the water rain over themselves.

“I wish we could just stay here and order pizza,” whispered Lafayette.

“Me too,” sighed Washington. “God knows Ihave enough on my hands with only one Frenchman at home.”

Lafayette swatted his ass playfully, grinning against his shoulder. “I like it when you say that. _At home_.”

“Home is wherever I am with you,” muttered George as he poured some vanilla-scented shower gel in his hand and started lathering Lafayette’s back.

“Oh God. And you have the nerve to call _me_ sappy,” laughed Lafayette before returning the favor.

They made quick work of the actual shower, not embarassed in the least by each other’s nudity as they walked to the bedroom. They picked each other’s clothes, Washington helping Lafayette getting into the tight navy tuxedo that made the President’s heart sing and preen with pride; Lafayette tied his bow, sucking a bruise right under the collar and letting his fingers linger there when he worked at the fabric, smoothing the shirt on the planes of George’s body.

“You look amazing,” said George with twinkling eyes.

“You don’t look bad yourself, Mr President,” teased Lafayette, when really the only thing he wanted to say was “I love you”. There was a half-full (or half-empty, depending on how you saw it) bottle of champagne in the fridge; they took a swig each, straight from the bottle, for courage, giggling like teenagers. George gave Lafayette a bubbly kiss as the Frenchman was leaving : sweetly, like a secret wink between giddy lovers.

 

 

An hour later, Lafayette was relieved to see John and Alex among the various politicians and journalists. Von Steuben had placed a glass in his hand as soon as he’d entered the East Room, telling him about the last time he’d been at the Spyce Bar in Paris and a particularly cheeky topless waiter. He’d downed his drink in thirty seconds at most and had asked for a second one immediately.

He had barely had time to greet the two men - they looked radiant, they looked in love, they looked like they could use some time alone in a broom closet - that the door opened to let in Washington, Président Bourbon and his wife, Marie-Antoinette. The press took a few official pictures; Lafayette tried looking above their heads, reluctant to keep his eyes off George when he looked so handsome, so regal. He was probably a terrible friend, he thought as he left John and Alex to their devices, parting the crowd in purposeful strides (or had he watched one too many romantic movies?), until finally, Washington’s gaze pulling him in like a lifeline, he was standing in front of the two heads of state.

“ _Monsieur le Président_ ,” he said with a professional smile, shaking Bourbon’s hand.

“Monsieur de Lafayette”, greeted Bourbon. “President Washington was just telling me that he thought you had truly found your calling here.”

“Ah, monsieur, Mr Washington is too kind. I am only as good as he wishes our relationship to be.” He ignored Washington’s amused snort, turning to Marie-Antoinette, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles delicately. “Marie. Each time I see you I am reminded of our country’s beauty.”

She gave a tinkling laugh, cold as crystal but just as elegant. Compliment her looks, earn her love : she wasn’t a very complicated woman. “Gilbert. How long has it been?”

“Long enough for your toes to recover from my poor dancing skills, or so I hope,” smiled Lafayette.

“A story you haven’t shared with me yet, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur?” George’s low voice around the French words made Lafayette hide a shiver.

“I am afraid you haven’t seen myself drunk enough for that, Mr President,” he teased, taking the proffered hand.

“Then I shall employ myself to it,” promised Washington, closing his fingers around Lafayette’s. They both couldn’t help leaning slightly into the touch. A slight squeeze, a silent promise in both their smiles, and the warm touch was gone. The charm was broken when Von Steuben burst in, asking Marie-Antoinette details about her outfit.

“Mr President, Alexander Hamilton is here. Didn’t you want to see him?” asked Lafayette.

“Attentive as ever, Lafayette. Please excuse me,” he left the French couple behind them as Lafayette led him to his friends. “Gil, didn’t you say Alexander had a tendancy to run late? Were you the one to dress him up? That’s a brand new tux.”

“I had a car sent. At my own expense, _mon dieu_ , George, stop looking at me like that,” almost whimpered Lafayette. “You just notice everything, don’t you? I don’t think he knows about Hanson leaving.”

“How could I ever stop looking at you,” whispered Washington, leaning into Lafayette’s ear. “I can’t wait to take those pants off you. Your ass looks fantastic.”

Lafayette was practically vibrating as Alex introduced John to Washington. “Please meet my boyfriend, the President of the United States,” he wanted to say. He had a hard time keeping his hands to himself. I am a walking cliché, he realized; somehow he didn’t care.

He focused long enough to hear Alex say “Sir? I am very honored but I am just an intern and…”

So George had offered the speechwriter position on a golden plate and Alex was fool enough to pretend he wasn’t dreaming about it. “Alex,” said Lafayette, “a position is vacant. Interns can be hired. We’ve all read your work. We’ve heard you talk. There is no one who would be, how you say? A better _aide_ to George. You have a way with words.”

“Could not have said it better myself, Gilbert,” nodded Washington, patting Gilbert’s arm, who melted into the touch. “What do you say, son?” He extended his hand to Alex.

Alex, dumbfounded (and what a sight to behold), shook the President’s hand with a thousand-watts smile.

“Monsieur le Président, are you hungry?” asked Lafayette, motioning towards the buffet.

“Starving, actually. We shouldn’t eat too much before dinner, though,” warned Washington. “I’ve been told by an obnoxious foreign dignitary that my aging body can’t take as much as his own young form can.”

Lafayette laughed as George led him to the buffet. His broad hand was a grounding weight against his back, not even worth noting, in the delirious, love-struck state his brain was in. A habit, a mindful, domestic gesture, out of place in a formal setting.

A Danish proverb states that love is blind and thinks that others don’t see either. Lafayette, although he was fond of Peter Jensen’s designer clothes and had tried out for Ophelia back in high school, was not Danish and had never had much cause to think about this. But being French, Adrienne would indubitably remind him that Brigitte Bardot had once lamented that a photograph can be an instant of life captured for eternity that will never cease looking back at you, whether he wanted it to or not, whether he was ready for it or not, as the picture a journalist had just taken of Washington’s long fingers splayed on his navy tuxedo would be all over the world come morning.

 

“I have to get our guests rounded up for dinner,” said Washington, handing Lafayette another glass of champagne a waiter had brought them. “I am afraid I won’t see much of you at the table. Standard procedure?”

“Standard procedure,” nodded Lafayette with bright eyes. After dessert and champagne - God, he would probably be thoroughly drunk by then -, he would excuse himself and take the service staircase to their room. He watched George make his way to Bourbon, and joined Alex and John in a corner.

“Congratulations on the job,” he told Alex after hugging him. “George is very fond of you, it seems.” He toasted with them and took a sip. He felt like he was fussing over his children like a drunk step-mom. He liked it. He wondered if a short bob would suit him. Screw that, he could just buy a wig. Would George be into that? How about a costume? Could he actually maybe still fit into Adrienne’s nurse costume from one of their “Nurses and Plumbers“ student nights?

“Lafayette,” John’s voice dropped to a whisper, “is it serious between you and the President?”

Lafayette made sure no one was around and huddled closer to them. “I think it is, John”, he said with twinkling eyes, a hand closing around John’s wrist. “I think it is. God, _je crois que je l’aime_ . This is terribly cheesy and wrong, he is the President but there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, _tu vois_?”

“Will you ever go public?” asked Alex.

Lafayette had to spare a thought. They would have to, probably, at one point. But he was not about to make the same mistake. He was in no rush. He shrugged. “I don’t see how we could do that. George used to be married to a woman before he got the Office. I don’t think he is ready to come out, actually. It’s okay. I’m satisfied.” He even meant it.

 

 

Dinner was tedious, at best. Everybody was already drunk, Lafayette was stuck between Vergennes and one of the French pharmaceutical industry representants who kept asking him what he thought the main differences between French and American girls were and how he felt in a country where you had to import your own wine if you wanted to drink something decent. He made a point of drinking bourbon and coke through the whole dinner. It was worth the shock on the guy’s face. Washington himself was starting to get a bit tipsy, he could tell from the booming laughs at jokes Bourbon would say that definitely did not deserve such a treatment.His gut tightened when he heard Marie-Antoinette’s sharp voice ask “And when will I have someone to spend the day with while you and my husband talk politics, George?” but Washington’s answer of “I take great care of hiding my lovers to make sure you still are the most beautiful person in the room, Marie” made him smile in relief.

Like they’d decided, Lafayette made his way out of the room after champagne, claiming a headache. He all but ran upstairs to the kitchen, tugging his tie loose, popping a few buttons off his shirt. When George came upstairs, letting his suit jacket and bowtie on the kitchen chair, he found Gilbert sat on the couch in boxers and one of George’s old New York marathon shirts. On the screen, Julianne Moore was reading a letter while Anthony Hopkins did the voice-over.

“I thought I would help you take those pants off?” he asked, leaning in the doorframe. Gilbert smiled at him with a winkHe sat next to Lafayette, who immediately shifted so that his legs rested on Washington’s thighs; George let his hands rest on the warm calves. “I prefered Jodie Foster as Clarice.”

“ _Hannibal_ is way more interesting than _Silence of the Lambs_. But the TV show’s Mason Verger is where it’s at.”

“Isn’t it a bit late for cannibals?” asked Washington, falling on his side until Gilbert made room for him so he could spoon him properly.

“You don’t say that when your dick is in my mouth,” muttered Lafayette.

“That makes absolutely no sense. Please don’t chew my cock,” warned Washington.

“You prefer me to choke on it?”

“Look, Gil, I feel this is meant to be kinky, but somehow refering to my cock as an ingredient in a salad while watching a guy eat another guy’s brain is a bit off-putting.”

Washington felt the rumble of Lafayette’s laughter against his chest. They didn’t even make it to Detective Pazzi’s death before George had to carry Lafayette to the bed, sliding under the covers next to him, his chest flush with the sleeping Frenchman’s back.

 

 

Six hours later, around 8am, Lafayette was on his way to Alex and Hercules’. His phone was buzzing continuously. He’d only had time to throw on the same suit he’d been wearing the night before, not even bothering to look for fresh clothes. George had basically sent him to run for cover after Knox had called him on his landline, which _never_ happened. He couldn’t really be caught at the White House, right now.

Everywhere on TV, on the newspapers, George’s hand, inappropriately placed on Lafayette’s lower back. A few other official pictures, dissecting their handshakes, their gazes at each other. Speculations, interviews of people who knew Lafayette, back in France. He quickly texted Adrienne to stay home. He tried to call Alexander; one, two, twenty-three times, to no avail. John was on speakerphone, or he’d put his phone in Alex’s ass, honestly, he didn’t care, why the _fuck_ weren’t they answering?

* * *

 

From : Herc !!!

Are you up?

 

To : Herc !!!

OMW. Chamomile tea would be a+.

* * *

 

From : George !!!

Meet me at the Office at 10pm?

 

To : George !!!

Oui. Are you mad at me?

 

From : George !!!

How could I? It had to happen. At least you are here with me

 

From : George !!!

Look for me in the whirlwind or the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. The drama has started.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ! God, it's been a WHILE since I updated. Are you still here? Hello !  
> This chapter goes hand in hand with chapter 10 of Relax have a drink with me - head over there if you want to read the Lafayette-side of it all !

Hercules opened the door when Lafayette hadn’t even had time to raise his shaky fist to knock - he had probably heard him stomp up the stairs, fueled by fear and anger. Anger at his own carelessness, anger at the media who just didn’t know how to leave people  _ alone _ , anger at Adrienne who hadn’t answered his text although it was still night time in Paris. Gilbert barely took the time to drink in the sight of Hercules in his shorts and ridiculous “Spies Like Us” tank top - he remembered that on Sunday mornings, Hercules would run down the C&O trail to Palisades Farmers Market, and wasn’t the market just the place to gossip, no wonder he’d been the first to send him a text - before storming into the appartment, all but foaming at the mouth.

“Lafayette, I’m…” started Hercules.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Lafayette snarled. “This is why I had told George, I told him,  _ mon amour _ , there are too many journalists, and he said, ah, this is good for the press,  _ oui _ ? Well,  _ merde _ . Now people look and they see and they are going to dissect what is ours and he isn’t ready, Hercules, I am but he is not, and where the fuck is Alexandre, it’s his fucking job,  _ non _ ?”

“You know it’s not,” snapped Hercules. “Now sit down before you hurt yourself. The tea is almost ready.”

Lafayette let himself fall down on the couch while Hercules went to the kitchen. “I think I am going to be sick,” he informed Hercules who walked a bit faster over to him, hands wrapped around a steaming “Liquor is quicker” mug. He let his head hang between his knees, the way Adrienne had taught him the first time they’d flown together from Paris to Rome and the wind had been particularly violent over the Alps. It felt just like that, right then : like the wind was blowing hard and he’d let George control, not sure how he would hold up.

“What am I doing here, Hercules? I should be  _ à la Maison Blanche _ , ah, at the White House, with George, but, ah, what if he doesn’t need me? Isn’t that the reason he told me to go?”

“Gil, for god’s sake,” said Hercules, letting one of his hands rest on Lafayette’s bent back, “if he needs you half as much as you need him, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I am not worried,” shuddered Lafayette. “Who’s worried? You’re worried.” He fished his phone out of his suit jacket’s breast pocket. “Why isn’t Adrienne answering? It’s almost 4 back there.”

“In the morning?” asked Hercules, to which Lafayette nodded distractedly. “That might be why she isn’t answering.”

“ _ Ce serait le moment qu’Henriette fasse ses dents.”  _ He could see under the couch from where his head was between his legs. Someone had left a pair of bottle green boxers. “ _ Oh mon dieu _ , he is alone. Well,  _ pas tout seul _ . Von Steuben is there, probably. What if he convinces him that this was all good while it lasted but was doomed to fail?  _ Je n’aimais qu’un seul être, et je le perds deux fois! _ ”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” muttered Hercules.

“I wonder how much a desert island costs. Maybe if I sell the flat I…”

A door creaked, letting Alexander Hamilton out, in sweatpants, looking sheepish and thoroughly fucked out.

“ _ Tu réponds jamais à ton portable, putain? _ ” Lafayette yelled.

“ _ Pardon? _ ” asked Alex, like his brain was still too deep in his ass - or John’s - no, Alexander was a bottom, he was pretty sure of this - anyway, Alex was staring at the TV, that he hadn’t even realized was on, George’s broad hand on him : “the President’s French affair”. He let out a slow, high-pitched whine. Alex went to get a shirt while Hercules coaxed him into drinking his tepid tea, force-feeding him a piece of blueberry muffin.

 

Message from Ségur. Message from Peggy. Message from Jean-Paul, his teacher from high school - he’d been contacted by Fox on his facebook, what the fuck?- Lafayette badly aimed his phone at the car’s window, missing the opening by a few inches. Alex was silent by his side. There wasn’t much to say. What would happen? Either they found a way to spin this around, which would be no small feat consideering how much the media liked to prey on those in a position of power, be they in the wrong or not; or George could decide to go public, which he wasn’t sure was the right time after their brief break-up, and while the French President was there too ! What atrocious timing. The only way he would leave would be if George told him to, in no uncertain terms. Even then, he realized, he could probably kiss his job goodbye, in any case. There was no coming back from such a scandal - if they could pretend it wasn’t what it was, he would probably have to find someone to appear in public with. Or worse. George would. And that he wasn’t sure he could take.

The car had barely stopped that Lafayette was opening the door and walking in long strides to the stairs, Alexander almost jogging to catch up as he made his way to the Oval Office. It was 10am sharp. He pushed the door open, barely acknowledging Angelica, Greene and Von Steuben. All he could see, the beacon in this gloomy day, was George, looking out the window to the damn crocus bed. He only thought to slow down when he was at arm’s length from Washington. His eyes were unfocused, his mouth tight. He felt the tension radiating from him in waves. He tentatively put a hand on George’s forearm, the man turning to him with a sigh, gripping his hand tight. He let his head rest against George’s shoulder. Now was not the time to talk.

  
  


George had never doubted his feelings from Lafayette. The morning had been long, Henry had stayed with him on the phone as Greene and Von Steuben were on their way after he’d sent them a text. They hadn’t known, but had quickly caught up in the car while listening to the radio. They had arrived at the Oval Office around 9.30, and so had Angelica. He wondered if the girl ever slept. Not many words had been said, what was there to say? He thought sending Gilbert away while he gathered his thoughts would be a good idea, but it had only filled his mind with static, a dull ache in his heart, a vague nausea like he was seasick. He’d been staring outside for a while now, the damn purple croci, the warm sun on his face reminding him of an afternoon, not so long ago, or maybe ten years ago, he didn’t know anymore, under the shade of a fig tree, Gilbert’s head resting on the small of his back, his laughing voice, “Where all is fair, how should I say what single grace is my delight?” He’d told George he loved him then, never to speak of it again. Maybe, he thought as a hand fell on his forearm and he slid it into his own broader hand, maybe it  _ was _ time to speak of it. Maybe, in true Lafayette fashion, it was time to act, and maybe for once acting  _ was  _ talking. He could tell the Frenchman was worried, turning his anguish into anger, sniffling a bit like the tears were threatening to fall, his forehead shaking against his shoulder.

He heard some movement behind him, calling him back to reality. George let his hand, the one that was not gripping Gilbert’s, cup the back of his boy’s skull, tangling familiarly in the curls, absent-mindedly pressing his lips to his forehead, breathing in the shampoo and the scent of their night together, tangled sheets and limbs in the dead of night. They walked to the couch where Lafayette would usually sit on, Von Steuben and Greene having sat on the other one. They didn’t let go of each other. Alexander sat on the other side of Lafayette. The silence was deafening.

The heavens parted to greet Angelica back into the room, six styrofoam cups into her hands. “I texted my sister, I thought we could all use some coffee,” she said. He immediately spotted the small “L” adorned with a heart on the side of the cup closest to him, as well as the matching “POTUS”; he handed Gilbert his and took a sip of his own. Latte macchiato with a caramel shot and an extra espresso shot. His eyes drifted to the carnations on the coffee table. Maybe he could send Peggy flowers, too.

“I wish you’d told me, George.” Von Steuben was looking at Gilbert more than at George. He sounded sad, more than worried. George sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, his cup wobbly on his knee. Maybe this was the kind of thing you talked about with your Vice-President? How the fuck was he supposed to know?

“This is not something I’d exactly come to terms with, Friedrich,” and what a lie. He’d accepted his love ever since Gilbert had given him his number, and when on earth had he started to use the word  _ love _ when thinking back on it?

“How long has it been going on ?” How long indeed, Greene, thought Washington. The man looked deeply hurt that this all had developed without his knowledge, right under his nose.

Gilbert audibly swallowed, putting his half-empty cup on the table. George could smell - only in his mind, perhaps - the vanilla syrup he’d just drank, coating his words in French sounds and sweet notes. “Six months.” George could was not sure Gilbert could be heard from the other couch; he suddenly saw the little boy too afraid to bother his mother and grandma. “We decided to put an end to it in May when I went back to France, but when I came back I couldn’t help myself.  _ Oh mon dieu. Tout est de ma faute _ .”

George didn’t know how much of that was meant to protect him or if Lafayette was genuinely convinced he’d ensnared him like Circe had Ulysses, but to hell if he was going to let him take the blame. “This is not your fault, Gilbert. I was more than willing.” Gilbert’s thigh was tense under his fingers. 

“Mr President,” started Greene carefully, “your position of power over the French ambassador will no doubt come as a tremendous scandal. Not to mention the important commercial agreement we just signed. The French team has not been informed yet, although I called the French Department for Foreign Affairs so they can keep an eye on the situation over there.”

“They are going to call for my resignation. I am going to have to go back to fucking France.” George felt Lafayette’s breathing quicken. Now that he thought of it, it seemed like the obvious outcome. But seeing Gilbert leave in disgrace? There was no way he was letting this happen.

“Fox News is having a field day, Mr President, sir.” Angelica was quietly monitoring social media and her news feed. “You are going to have to make a statement soon, if I may.”

“We don’t have many choices,” stated George. It was more trying to buy himself time than actually offering a solution. “Deny, or confirm.”

“We could argue that the gest depicted in the picture was purely friendly in a diplomatic setting,” tried Greene.

“Honestly, Nathanael,” snorted Von Steuben, “if it’d been a hand on the shoulder, I’m not saying, but this is too big a bet. This is not a merely polite gesture. The press are undoubtedly looking at all the candids they took that night for any sign of affection between the Marquis and the President. We’d have to come up with something better.” Of course, the man knew all about what a public outing entailed. He’d had a hard time. He would guide George through it if need be. Washington felt marginally reassured at the thought.

“I can deny. I will go back to France. Put the blame on me. I’ll say I tried to seduce you to get what I wanted. Confess to anything.” Count on Lafayette to throw himself face first into the flames if he thought it might help his man. The French, thought George. Helpless romantic fuckers. Someone needed to save them from themselves.

“You will do no such thing.” Washington got up. “You are not going back to France, or so help me, I will go and get you back by the scruff of your neck if I have to.” He started pacing. “Miss Schuyler, please call Press Secretary Tilghman. Alert the media. I will give a brief statement at 2pm this afternoon. Nathanael, please get a hold of the French President and his staff. I want them there by midday. Friedrich, please inform the Cabinet. Alexander, please take Gilbert home and make sure he gets ready for the statement. You’re the closest friend he’s got, and for the love of God, do NOT get on Twitter.”

“George…?” Von Steuben’s smile was barely visible, but there it was all the same.

This was it, George thought. This is the moment he made a difference - this was the moment he had to come clean. “I am not going to lie to the people. It’s time to face the facts. I love Gilbert and I am not hiding anymore. Homosexuality is not a criminal offense.” Lafayette choked on his coffee inelegantly.

“They will call for your impeachment for abuse of power, Mr President,” warned Nathanael.

He was pretty sure the Republicans had nothing to back such a claim up. “Let them try.”

He barely took the time to kiss Gilbert on the temple, trying to convey the trust in his decision he felt, before going upstairs to finally change and get ready before the show. 

 

In George Washington’s life, there had been awkward moment. Even Presidents of the United States have moments they look back on and cringe at how stupid they appeared, like the time Gerald Ford fell of the airplane stairs or the time the Bush son tried to rub the German Chancellor’s shoulders. And honestly, being sat at the table with the French Président and both their Vice-Presidents after having had to inform him that he had been banging his ambassador and fully intended to stay in a committed relationship with him definitely ranked into George Washington’s top 10 most terrible moments. He felt relieved when Gilbert entered the room with Hamilton and Angelica. He sat down in the free seat at George’s right.

“Gilbert, you are going to have to resign,” Vergennes started right away.

Von Steuben nodded. “If we’re going to make this public, we also have to make sure your professional relationship is not questionable.” They had all agreed on that matter.

“You’ll have my resignation letter on your desk by tomorrow morning, Charles,” Lafayette told Vergennes. He was sitting straight and strong, body angling towards George as if he were a sunflower. “George, you can still deny. Say it was my fault. I won’t complain.”

Washington took his hand across the table, shaking his head at the proffered out. “I made my decision, Gilbert. This is happening. What kind of person would I be, having fought to make gay marriage legal in all 50 states, then hiding when so many do and shouldn’t have to?”

Lafayette’s hand gripped his tighter, as if to say,  _ you show them, old man _ , and that was just what his eyes were saying. Washington heard Marie-Antoinette quietly coo. 

Tilghman coughed lightly. “Sir, the press will be here in ten.”

Back to business, thought Washington. “Very well. Miss Schuyler? What are the opinions so far?”

“Divided, Mr President,” shrugged Angelica. “The conservatives are going crazy, as you would expect. I would expect some tumultuous protests after coming out, sir. As for the others, well. They do not care that much and don’t see what that has to do with your leadership of the country and what the fuss is about.” Those who would be harder to work with, of course, were those who cared more about what happened in the privacy of the President’s bed than what happened right on their doorstep where their fellow humans were lacking the most basic healthcare.

Greene looked at the clock. “Well, ladies and gentleman, it’s showtime.”

They made their way to the Press Room, slowly. “Mr President,” said Angelica, “I recommend that you go alone on that podium for the speech. Lafayette can join you afterwards, for the photos. Please, Lafayette, no inappropriate gestures. No kissing. This is not the moment. We’ve got to be careful about all of this. It’s an unprecedented situation.”

“Of course, Miss Schuyler. Thank you.” Washington hugged Gilbert, quickly, knowing that if the coming out was hard for him, having to tone it down was a real struggle for Lafayette. “Will you stay here, where I can see you?” The words left his lips in a breath, unexpected and soft. He felt more anxious than he thought, he realized. On the stage, Tighlman was introducing him.

“I’ll be there, George. I love you.” It was not the first time he’d heard it, but the first time Lafayette loaded it with meaning and intent; it felt like a balm and a match, both soothing his heart and setting it on fire. His name was called. He stepped to the podium.

 

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I realize this meeting was announced at a very short notice, and would like to thank both my staff and yourselves for your diligence.

A picture was taken, last night, at a diplomatic event hosted in this very House for the benefit of Président Bourbon and decades of Franco-American alliance. This picture shows myself, indulging in what I believe the media called “a tender gesture” to the French ambassador, Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. Many speculations have been circulating, and I have no doubt I can call on any of you to supply me with pictures, shall I decide to put together a souvenir album.

When confronted to the publication of this picture, I was faced with two choices : denial, or confirmation. Although denial would have been easier, I believe being a good liar is not the reason so many of our American citizens entrusted me with my position as President of the United States.

I have always been, in the military in the service of our country, as in my position now, an honest man. I cannot, in all conscience, advocate for equal rights and the LGBT community as I did, campaign for every person to accept themselves as who they are and take pride in their identity, and hide myself. Never have I better appreciated what any of them must have gone through, on this day.

This is why I come to you today, as a proud bisexual man. For the last six months, Monsieur de Lafayette and myself have seen each other through any hardship any couple has to be put through. For those who may wonder, this in no case calls into question the life and love I had with my past wife; if anything, it is comparable, maybe even stronger.

It is time for us all to accept who we are. It is time for us all to be able to discern personal lives and public lives. I have no doubt my skills as leader of this nation will be questioned by some. You trusted me when you elected me, and I do not see why that has to change.

This statement was only spurred by my will to be as honest with you as I swore I would be on the day of my investiture. I know I can count on you all to help make America a place where anybody, of all race, gender, sexual orientation, a place where they are not afraid. Thank you all.”

He gestured to Gilbert, who joined him in the lights of the flashing cameras. George let a hand wrap around Gilbert’s waist, holding him firmly through the storm and not intending to ever let go.

  
That night, as Lafayette fell asleep, head on Washington’s outstretched legs while watching reruns of House MD, a few slices of pizza getting cold on the coffee table, not much seemed to have changed. The world had turned upside down around them, but they’d remained standing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew ! Quite a lot of French in this one, our favorite fighting frenchman is a nervous talker.  
> Ce serait le moment qu’Henriette fasse ses dents = it would be time for Henriette to start teething  
> pas tout seul = not alone  
> Je n’aimais qu’un seul être, et je le perds deux fois = I only ever loved one being and have lost him twice. (This is from Cyrano de Bergerac, which you should read. Incredible play.)  
> Tu réponds jamais à ton portable, putain? = don't you ever fucking answer your phone  
> Oh mon dieu. Tout est de ma faute = oh my god this is all my fault
> 
> I wanted to include some smut but the chapter felt complete. Probably next time !


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette has always been a bit of a wild card. As the President, George Washington's life is very structured and leaves no place to be as spontaneous as he would like. And yet, they meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long. I am deeply ashamed and thoroughly apologize.  
> A not-too-long chapter to get back into writing - once again, I am sorry ! If you follow me on Tumblr, you'll remember I've had a...peculiar year. Not that it's a good enough excuse.

It would have been difficult to say who was having a harder time. Angelica, trying desperately to make Lafayette understand that he was going to be up his neck in security protocols and ridiculously organized events, or Lafayette himself, upon hearing from Angelica that he couldn’t just tell his new staff to go to Hell so that he could sit in the Oval Office all day and torture poor George with barely hidden teases. As an ambassador, he’d easily enough been able to - unfairly - make other people do his job; as the First Gentleman, he couldn’t really get someone else to preside over a state dinner unless he got a doppelganger -

“Angelica,” Lafayette tried, “can I get a doppelganger?”

“No,” she said. She looked like she was just about to rip his arm off and use it to beat him with. The problem was, she was never sure how serious he was. Maybe he was serious when he said he wanted to build a swimming pool in the North garden. Maybe he was serious when he said he wanted to have his first press meeting at a bar. Maybe he was serious when he said he wanted Hercules to have his own room next to George and his. How the fuck was she supposed to know?

Lafayette’s phone vibrated.

* * *

 

From : Petit Lion

What are you doing

 

To : Petit Lion

Getting briefed by Angelica on what I can and can’t say

 

To : Petit Lion

She is banning 90% of my personality

* * *

 

“Lafayette, are you even listening to me?” Angelica asked. Her knuckles were starting to turn white around her coffee cup. He had called Peggy in a panic, at 8am, asking her how her sister liked her coffee, as soon as Angelica had sent him a text telling him he’d better haul ass to her office as soon as possible and she was already waiting there. He’d gone to get the coffee (double espresso. No milk. No sugar. She was a force to be reckoned with), which had been a terrible mistake as his face had been on TV all last night and the Americans on the street were pretty colorful in their reactions.

“Alexander needs my help,” Lafayette said, getting up.

“Sit your ass back down,” Angelica calmly answered, getting her phone out and tapping the screen a thousand words a minute. “Alexander can choke for all I care. You wanted to bang George Washington and let the whole world know, deal with it.”

* * *

 

To : George !!!

Angelica is a terrifying woman please save me

 

From : George !!!

You are on your own, sweetheart. I loved you and will cherish our memories together

* * *

 

To : Petit Lion

This sucks ass I can’t even be my lovely self anymore

 

To : Petit Lion

What use is there being French if I can’t charm the pants off you all

 

From : Petit Lion

Can you even hang out with us commoners anymore

* * *

 

“Can I go play with Alexander now?” Gilbert asked, trying his best to look sincere and adorable, which just made him look mildly terrifying. 

“You are a fucking brat and I wish you’d never been born,” Angelica said in a sugary-sweet voice.

* * *

 

To : George !!!

Can you send the Secret Services I think she is going to get rid of my extremely attractive body

 

From : George !!!

Actually. We  _ do _ have to talk about security services. Come to the Oval Office whenever you can if you are still alive.

* * *

 

From : Petit Lion

Angelica is swearing at me

 

To : Petit Lion

As First Lady I can totally fire her now

* * *

 

“My first act as First Lady is to ask you to cease immediately your threats to Alexander and please let me go before I fire you,” Lafayette said triumphantly.

 

“She said she would get me extradited,” Lafayette whined, plopping dramatically down onto the couch he’d decided was his in the Oval Office. George was sitting on the other one, legs crossed, a smile tugging at his lips, his fingers playing with the ridiculous pink tie Lafayette had chosen for him that morning. Another man was there, standing stiffly next to Lafayette’s couch.

“Gil, you can’t expect her to be pleased. She had a tough night and the next few months are going to be hard on her,” George said.

“I had a tough night as well,” Lafayette complained. 

“You fell asleep on my knees while we were watching TV,” George reminded him. “I would hardly say you are incredibly distraught. Anyway, please meet Robert Howe. Your new best friend.”

“Good morning, Monsieur de Lafayette, sir,” Howe said. 

Lafayette let his eyes wander a bit. “This is not a good idea, George. I can’t have such a good looking man trailing me. People will stare.”

“I am right here, sir,” Howe tried.

“Whatever,  _ Bob _ ,” snorted Lafayette.

“Captain Howe, there is still time to resign and I would not blame you for it,” Washington shrugged. Lafayette laughed delightedly and got up only to sit back down on George’s lap; Robert Howe, deep in his soul, knew this would be a tremendously tiring job. He took his leave, unnoticed, to go stand by Benjamin Tallmadge, who offered him a sympathetic smile.

 

It was a good idea, at first, or so it seemed. Sneaking past Angelica, foaming at the mouth talking about visiting an orphanage the day after, convincing Bob it was all good and awesome for them to casually stroll down the street to the coffee shop and buy lunch for George and himself. It wasn’t that good of an idea when someone yelled a homophobic slur at him as he handed Peggy change.

He fled to the safety of Alexander and Jefferson’s office to complain, shaking Bob off.  “People part when I walk in the hallway and I am pretty sure someone handed me a small child to bless when I stopped to get coffee from Peggy this morning.”

“Be grateful Angelica confiscated your Twitter access. I’ve seen some nasty shit on it,” Alex groaned. “People are pissed. I am not even talking about POTUS’ account because we’ve had to put a filter on a variety of swear words I had no idea even existed.”

Jefferson walked to Lafayette and extended his hand. “ _ Félicitations, mon ami _ ! It took a lot of courage to do what you and Mr Président did.”

“Stop licking federal ass, Jefferson,” Alex snickered. “This is apparently a presidential prerogative now.”

Lafayette smiled ecstatically and Jefferson blushed. “You are terrible, Hamilton. Not to mention extremely rude to Monsieur de Lafayette.”

“You know what, Jefferson?” Alex got up and leant forward as if revealing a great secret. “I’ve seen Lafayette naked so I think we’re past that. And if you think ass-licking is rude, I feel sorry for poor Jimmy Madison at home.”

Jefferson slammed the door on his way out. Lafayette looked at the closed door and wondered aloud “I think he is pissed because you saw me naked and he hasn’t.”

“A true loss for all,” said Alex as he sat back down.

“I can fix that, if that’s what the nation wants,” offered Lafayette.

“God, no,” winced Alexander. “You’ve done enough without you leaking nudes. Although I am sure you think they would distract ISIS enough to stop the war, I have enough on my plate trying to sort out which threats to the President are real and deserve to be sent to the CIA and which come from frustrated Republicans who just get to shoot their load on social media.”

“Nice,” remarked Lafayette. “I am unable to come and go as I want, people want to cut my head off like we did to our king back then or think I can cure the diseased, and now I can’t leak nudes.”

“Can you still come to our place or is that out of bounds?”

“Please, God. I miss Hercules already. ( _ He hadn’t seen him since the day before _ , thought Alex.  _ This was ridiculous _ .) I am just not allowed to not be accompanied by a bodyguard, which is not only eye-candy, honestly, George should have thought about it twice, but also super useful if I want to kill someone or don’t want to get up to get the remote.”

“I am sure that’s the intended purpose.”

* * *

From : G

John fought for your honor !!

 

To : G

I’m sorry what

 

From : G

You are beginning to text like me I am delighted and worried

 

From : G

Next step is sexting

 

To : G

I am meeting with Knox right now.

 

From : G

Hot

 

From : G

Anyway

 

From : G

John fought a guy on the bus and I think we should adopt him

 

To : G

His family may object

 

From : G 

His family sucks

 

To : G

Point well taken 

* * *

 

“Are you listening, Mr President?” Knox looked tired. When did he not? Especially lately. Washington thought he would have to let the guy go on holiday at one point. Probably in three years. Unless he campaigned for reelection. Seven years it was, then.

“I am not sure we want to meet with the Pakistani President right before we close the deal on the partnership on Indian education digital transformation,” said Washington, closing his eyes for a minute. “Then again, we do need to talk about the financement of the expansion of the Tarbela dam.”

“Let’s not anger Pakistan, George. They have been a bit antsy with the Indian troops movements lately.”

* * *

 

From : G

I invited John and Alex and Hercules over on Friday night at Mount Vernon

 

To : G

If the world doesn’t blow over by then

 

From : G

Did someone talk about blowing

 

From : G 

I’m on my way home

* * *

 

“It’s a wonder I even get anything done around here with you texting me at all hours,” George said, slipping his pajama pants on. Romance is dead, sadly thought Lafayette with a look at the plaid fabric. Soon we will buy matching slippers and then there is nothing I will be able to do. Weirdly, the idea pleased him. He was just about to tell George when the bomb was dropped.

“Are we even free on Friday night?” George asked.

“I said we were,” Laf answered.

“Did you ask Angelica?” George asked again.

“I said I did,” Laf added.

“Did you?” The look on George’s face called for no answer. The look on Lafayette’s horrified face was answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this was okay. I'll be back soon. I promise.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed !  
> As always, I LIVE for your kudos, comments, and messages - you can find me on tumblr @iwillgladlyjointhefight.


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